THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ENSENORE, 

AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


P.     HAMILTON     MYERS. 


"  Of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 

Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe, 
And  sold  to  slavery  .  .  . 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

"  One  of  those  still  lakes, 
That  in  a  shining  cluster  lie, 
On  which  the  south  wind  scarcely  breaks 
The  image  of  the  sky." 

BRYANT. 


NEW  YORK: 
DODD  &  MEAD,  PUBLISHERS, 

751  BROADWAY. 


COPYRIGHT. 

DODD  &  MEAD, 

1875. 


BOSTON  : 

STEREOTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 
RAND,  AVERY,  &  Co. 


ps 


PREFACE. 


"  ENSENORE,"  the  principal  poem  in  this  collec 
tion,  long  ago  achieved  a  local  popularity,  which 
was  due  partly  to  the  name  of  the  distinguished 
person  who  stood  sponsor  for  it  on  its  first  publica 
tion  (the  world-lamented  Seward),  partly  to  the 
beautiful  scenery  which  it  celebrates,  and  perhaps, 
in  a  small  degree,  to  some  merits  in  the  poem  it 
self,  —  a  little  diamond-dust  sparkling  amidst  much 
chaff. 

Critics  could  afford  to  deal  tenderly  with  it  then, 
as  the  production  of  very  young  years  ;  and  al 
though  it  is  deliberately,  not  to  say  defiantly  re 
produced  now,  when  the  world  is  aglow  with  the 
light  of  poetical  genius  of  the  highest  order,  it  is 
really  and  truly  so  done  at  the  urgent  and  repeated 
request  of  many  of  its  old  admirers. 

The  literary  firmament,  like  the  celestial,  has 
room  for  stars  of  all  degrees  of  magnitude  ;  and 


904111 


4  PREFACE. 

oue  may  well  be  content  to  obtain  a  small  place  in 
such  a  galaxy,  even  if  it  should  be  so  minute  as  to 
require  telescopic  powers  for  its  observation. 

The  second  poem,  "THE  KXIGHT  OF  ST.  JAGO," 
is  the  production  of  maturer  years,  and  is  conse 
quently  amenable  to  a  closer  criticism  than  its  pre 
decessor.  It  is  now  printed  for  the  first  time,  after 
more  than  the  Horatian  period  of  seasoning,  which, 
it  is  hoped,  has  not  had  the  effect  to  render  it  very 
dry. 

Most  of  the  minor  pieces  have  been  published  in 
the  leading  magazines  and  weeklies  ;  and,  inasmuch 
as  they  have  been  culled  from  more  than  thrice 
their  number,  the  author  thinks  he  has  made  sure 
of  the  thanks  of  Ms  readers,  either  for  publishing 
these,  or  for  omitting  the  large  remainder. 


[TriE  author  cannot  refrain,  even  at  the  risk  of 
being  charged  with  vanity,  from  prefacing  his  book 
with  the  following  beautiful  lines  written  in  compli 
ment  to  ' '  ENSENORE  "  by  a  distinguished  divine  and 
poet,  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  William  Croswell  of  Bos 
ton.] 

LAKE   OWASCO. 

"  One  of  the  seven  fair  lakes  that  lie 
Like  mirrors  'neath  the  summer  sky." 

ENSEXOKE. 

FAIR  lake !  upon  thy  tranquil  face 

The  gilded  clouds,  in  rich  array 
Reflected,  pass,  and  leave  no  trace,  — 

Types  of  thy  people  passed  away ; 
And  he  who  through  thy  pictured  page 

Looks  deepest  down,  with  rapture  sees, 
Like  relics  of  that  long-lost  age, 

The  glimmerings  of  dim  mysteries. 

Well  may  the  statesman  for  such  seats  ' 

Resign  the  empire's  helm  a  while, 
And  deep  within  thy  green  retreats 

The  languid  summer  hours  beguile. 
Here  Scipio  had  in  joy  repaired 

With  Laelius  at  the  senate's  close, 
And  by  thy  shaded  strand  had  shared 

The  charms  of  friendship  and  repose. 

5 


Bright  visions  haunt  thy  storied  dells ; 

Nor  may  thy  crystal  waters  drown 
The  mingled  pomps  of  poets'  spells, 

And  legends  of  thine  old  renown : 
To  fancy's  ear  they  utter  speech 

In  tones  unsyllabled  before ; 
And  every  ripple  on  the  beach 

Seems  faintly  whispering  "ENSENORE." 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ENSENORE  : 

Parti '      .        .  11 

Part  II 29 

Part  III 47 

Part  IV. r>9 

NOTES 87 

JUAN  BELLAIRE 105 

NOTES 143 

THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH 149 

FRANK  RUBY 100 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 168 

THE  COMET'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  EARTH      .        .        .        .173 

FITZ-GREENE  HALLECK 177 

OSCEOLA'S  SOLILOQUY 178 

THE  Two  BUILDERS 181 

LINES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  OCCASION   OF    THE   FUNERAL  OF 

THE  LATE  MRS.   SfiWARD,   AT  AUBURN,   N.Y.            .          .  187 

To  ONE  IN  HEAVEN 190 

THE  WINTER  GRAVE     ,                                                        ,  193 


EN  SE  N  O  RE 

PART    I. 


ENSENORE. 


PART  I. 

I. 

THE  Mohawk,  from  its  western  source, 

Where  silently  and  calm  it  flows, 
To  where  it  takes  a  torrent's  force 

And  dashes  down  the  dark  Cohoes  ; 
By  that  proud  mart  upon  its  shore,1 
Where  echoed  once  the  cannon's  roar, 
When  patriot  blood  flowed  fast  and  free 
On  thy  red  field,  Oriskany  ; 
And  that  where,  towering  to  the  skies, 
Wild  Astorogan's  hills  arise,2 
And  many  a  place  of  humbler  name, 
Haply,  as  yet,  unknown  to  fame,  — 
Now  mirrors  faithfully  and  true, 
Within  its  silent  depths  of  blue, 

11 


12  ENSENORE. 

The  lofty  spire  and  gilded  dome 
And  marble  mansion  by  its  side ; 

And  with  the  busy  hamlet's  hum 
Mingles  the  music  of  its  tide. 


II. 


But  not  of  these  the  minstrel's  rhyme  : 
His  tale  is  of  the  olden  time, 

When  that  dark  stream  no  burthen  bore, 
Save  where  the  gossamer  canoe 
Across  its  shaded  surface  flew,  — 

A  hundred  years  agone,  and  more. 
They  were  not  then,  —  the  towns  that  rise 
Like  magic  to  the  traveller's  eyes, 
Wild  Mohawk,  in  thy  every  glen 
And  ever3r  dale  ;  they  were  not  then. 
Pathless  and  proud,  upon  thy  side, 
Stood  unhewn  forests  dark  and  wide  ; 
The  red  deer  had  his  rambles  there, 
The  wild-cat  and  the  wolf  their-  lair, 
And  where  was  only  heard  the  cry 

Of  panther  fierce,  or  savage  yell, 
The  silvery  echoes  now  reply 

To  matin  and  to  vesper  bell. 


BNSENORE.  13 

III. 

Yet  not  through  forest  wilds  alone, 

Rolled  even  then  thy  chainless  tide  : 
One  little  colony  had  grown 

In  graceful  beauty  by  thy  side  ; 
'Twas  but  a  germ,  but,  ere  the  blast 
Of  desolation  o'er  it  passed, 
Held  many  a  happy  home  and  hearth, 
And  many  a  heart  of  sterling  worth, 
And  doubtless  had  its  fitting  share 
Of  human  hopes  and  human  care. 
Who  seeks  it  now  will  find  it  not ; 
A  cit}'  proud  usurps  the  spot, 
Whose  glistening  domes  and  towering  spires, 

And  streets  with  trade  and  commerce  rife, 
Tell  not  the  tale  of  midnight  fires, 

And  fagot  flames,  and  bloody  strife, 
Which  left  a  scorched  and  blackened  strand 
Where  now  her  halls  of  science  stand. 

IV. 

The  Muse  aspires  not  to  relate 

That  hapless  town's  appalling  fate  :  * 

How,  bursting  on  the  gloom  of  night, 

The  war-torch  shed  its  lurid  light, 

'       2 


14  ENSENORE. 

And  how  adown  the  vale, 
Echoing  from  many  a  distant  dell, 
Rang  the  red  warrior's  hideous  yell. 
There  live,  who  heard  their  grandsires  tell, 

And  shudder  at  the  tale. 
It  now  avails  not  to  recite 
The  story  of  that  fearful  night, 
Or  say,  'neath  the  relentless  hand 
Of  foes  who  fought  with  blade  and  brand, 
How  man}'  fathers  fighting  died 
E'en  at  their  murdered  children's  side, 
How  many  noble  hearts  were  crushed, 
How  many  lovel}*  lips  were  hushed, 

And  infant  voices  stilled  : 
A  hundred  years  since  then  have  spedj 
And  those  who  fell  and  those  who  fled 
Alike  are  numbered  with  the  dead, 

Their  destiny  fulfilled. 

V. 

More  recent  days,  alas  !  disclose 
Enough  of  human  wiles  and  woes  ; 
The  passing  years  are  ushering  in 
Enough  of  wretchedness  and  sin, 
Nor  need  we  turn  the  leaves  of  Time 
So  far,  to  find  a  page  of  crime  : 


ENSENORE.  15 


Yet,  if  to  some  belongs  the  meed 
Of  fame  for  high  heroic  deed, 
For  them,  although  they  ma}7  not  claim 
On  history's  faithless  page  a  name, 
The  bard  may  be  allowed  to  stand 
"Within  Tradition's  cloudy  land, 
Recall  its  shadowy  train  to-day, 
And,  much  presuming,  seek  to  stay 
From  them  awhile  the  threatened  fall 
Of  drear  oblivion's  ebon  pall. 


VI. 

And  well  the  minstrel's  meed  is  due 
To  them,  the  bold  and  fearless  few, 
Who  on  that  night  of  death  withstood 
And  stemmed  the  torrent  tide  of  blood ; 
Foremost  of  whom,  young  KNSEXORE  8 
Long  urged  them  to  the  unequal  war, 
Begged  they  would  not  ignobly  fly, 
And  leave  their  helpless  ones  to  die, 
"When  each  protracted  moment  proved 
Safety  and  life  to  some  the}'  loved ; 
"  And  hasten,"  to  a  youth  he  cried, 
Who  fought,  unfaltering,  at  his  side,  — 


1G  ENSENORE. 

"  Haste  to  our  trembling  friends,  and  say, 
We  hold  these  fiends  a  while  at  bay, 
And  bid  them  fly,  as  best  they  may." 

VII. 

In  vain,  alas  !  that  gallant  band 

Amid  their  fallen  comrades  stand  ; 

In  vain  for  mothers,  sisters,  wives, 

Yield  one  by  one  their  valued  lives : 

Another  part}'  of  the  foe, 

Unseen,  had  gained  the  town  below  ; 

They  saw  at  once  the  fearful  proofs 

In  columned  smoke  and  blazing  roofs, 

While  rang  the  war-whoop  through  the  air, 

Mingled  with  shrieks  of  wild  despair. 

One  moment  gazed  those  gallant  men, 

A  moment  paused  ;  and  even  then 

While,  hesitating  yet  to  fly, 

They  sought  their  dauntless  leader's  eye, 

Their  messenger  returning  stood, 

And  pointed  where  the  foe  pursued  ; 

"  A  few,"  the  breathless  envoy  said, 

"  A  few,  a  safe  retreat  have  made  ; 

The  rest  are  far  beyond  your  aid  : 

In  vain  your  valor,  ENSENORE," 

He  said,  and,  pointing  to  the  shore, 


ENSENORE. 

"•  Ye  who,  to  rescue  or  repay, 
Would  wait  a  more  auspicious  da}', 
Quick,  to  }-our  boats,  away  !  away  !  " 

VIII. 

Thy  wild  and  terror-stricken  wave, 
Mohawk,  a  doubtful  refuge  gave  ; 
For,  as  adown  thy  darkened  stream, 

Beneath  the  stars'  dim  light  they  steer, 
Comes  ever  and  anon  the  scream 

Of  some  new  sufferer  to  their  ear ; 
The  light  by  some  new  beacon  given 

Sheds  on  their  water}*  way  its  glare, 
And  rises  fearfully  to  heaven, 

As  if  in  lasting  letters  there 
To  write  upon  the  changeless  sky 
A  deed  of  such  a  damning  dye. 

IX. 

A  neighboring  village  gave,  ei*e  day, 

Asylum  to  the  few  who  fled  ; 
But,  'mid  the  sufferers,  none  as  they 
Who  mourned  their  bright  one  snatched  away 

Might  envy  e'en  the  dead,  — 
An  aged  pair,  to  whom  kind  Heaven 
A  pure  and  sinless  child  had  given, 

'     2« 


18  ENSENORE. 

A  gentle  girl,  on  whose  fair  head 

Scarce  twenty  springs  their  smiles  had  shed  ; 

Sole  solace  of  their  failing  }'ears, 

Sole  centre  of  their  hopes  and  fears, 

The  onby  light  of  their  lone  hearth, 

The  only  tie  'twixt  them  and  earth. 

They  saw  her  struggling  with  the  foe, 

And  borne  away  :  they  did  not  know 

If  it  were  given  at  once  to  die, 

Or  a  protracted  death  to  live  ; 
"But  the}*  had  heard  her  last  wild  cry 

Invoke  the  aid  the}'  could  not  give. 
Tears  are  for  those  who  lightly  mourn  ; 
They  came  net  to  that  pair  forlorn. 

X. 

Mature  in  every  }'outhful  grace, 
And  more  than  beautiful  of  face, 
Refined  of  heart,  and  free  from  guile, 
Gladdening  all  bosoms  with  her  smile, 
An  eye  for  whose  effulgence  bright, 

Revealing  thoughts  of  sinless  love, 
Elsewhere  there  seemed  no  kindred  light, 

Than  its  own  radiant  fount  above,  — 
Such  was  Kathreen  ;  such  she  for  whom 
Were  wrapt  those  aged  hearts  in  gloom, 


ENSENORE.  19 


And,  like  the  patriarch  of  3'ore, 
In  silent  grief  they  sought  the  tomb, 
Nor  heeded  words  of  comfort  more. 


Nor  they  alone  that  lost  one  wept  : 

Her  image  in  another  heart, 
Enshrined  and  loved,  had  long  been  kept, 

As  of  itself  a  part. 
Say,  ENSENORE,  when  wild  and  high 
Rang  through  the  night  thy  battle-cry, 

Till  far  responsive  echoes  woke  ; 
When,  'neath  the  flash  of  thy  lone  sword, 
Fell  back  dismaj^ed  that  savage  horde, 

As  from  the  lightning  stroke  ; 
When  thy  first  feats  in  arms  surpassed 
The  fame  of  many  a  hero's  last,  — 
"Was  not  the  hope  that  nerved  thy  arm, 
To  shield  that  lovely  one  from  harm  ? 
Now,  desolate,  Earth's  regions  wide 
Hold  none  that's  dear  to  thee  beside. 

XII. 

Yet,  while  his  heart  was  filled  with  woe, 
One  gleam  of  sunlight  entered  there, 


20  ENSENOKE. 

For  Hope  delights  to  set  her  bow 

Amid  thy  blackest  clouds,  Despair ! 
She  }Tet  might  live,  her  lover  thought : 
The  savage,  though  his  breast  were  fraught 
With  vengeance  for  a  murdered  race, 
Would  pause  to  gaze  on  that  dear  face, 
And,  gazing,  drop  his  nerveless  arm, 
Without  the  power  or  will  to  harm  ; 
And  the}7,  each  brave  and  young  compeer, 
Survivors  of  that  night  of  fear, 

The  remnant  of  their  chivalry, 
Who  round  their  broken  altars  kneel, 

"  With  hearts  of  fire  and  nerves  of  steel,'1 
Would  answer  to  his  rallying  cry, 
And  whether  on  the  river's  tide, 
Or  through  the  forests  dark  and  wide, 

Led  their  retreating  path, 
No  covert  should  have  power  to  hide 
The  miscreants  from  his  wrath. 

XIII. 

But  ah  !  'neath  reason's  milder  ray, 
He  saw  these  bright  dreams  fade  away, 
A  Xerxian  army  might  have  poured 
Its  millions  over  lake  and  plain, 


ENSENORE.  21 


And  every  deepening  forest  scoured, 
Yet  found  not  his  Kathreen  again. 
Alas  for  him  !  he  did  not  dare, 
With  any  force,  essay  to  tear 
The  fawn  from  out  the  lion's  jaws, 
The  lamb  from  'neath  the  tiger's  claws. 
Alas  for  him  !     Hope's  fleeting  light 
"Was  like  the  electric  flash  at  night, 
"Which  gilds  the  gloom  of  heaven  o'er, 
Then  leaves  it  darker  than  before. 

XIV. 

But  where  is  she,  the  hapless  fair, 

For  whom  a  father's  heart  is  rent, 
For  whom  a  mother's  ceaseless  prayer 

Up  to  the  throne  of  God  is  sent  ? 
"When  she,  the  lost,  awoke  to  life, 
She  saw  no  more  the  uplifted  knife, 
The  war-whoop  rang  not  in  her  ear, 
The  victor's  shout,  the  shriek  of  fear : 
"What  marvel  if  the  maiden  deem 
Her  woes  a  fantasy  or  dream  ? 
"  Mother  !  "  half  doubtingly,  she  spoke ; 
Oh,  ne'er  before  such  accents  woke 
The  echoes  of  that  gloomy  spot, 


22  ENSENORE. 

Where,  on  the  rough  and  leaves-strewn  ground, 

A  hundred  warriors  lay  around 

In  sleep,  calm,  quiet,  and  profound, 

Their  murderous  deeds  forgot. 
They  slept,  —  their  ruthless  hands  imbrued 
All  recently  in  human  blood  ; 
Scarcely  beyond  the  light  retired, 
Of  the  fair  town  their  brands  had  fired  ; 
Beneath  the  heavens  where  angels  wept 
O'er  their  atrocious  deeds,  —  they  slept. 

XV. 

With  the  first  gleam  of  morning  light, 
That  coward  band  commenced  their  flight, 
For  sudden  vengeance,  well  they  knew, 
Would  their  retreating  steps  pursue, 
And  far  from  the  awakening  ire 
Of  dreaded  foemen  they  retire, 
For,  whereso'er  the  red  deer  roam, 
All  spots  alike,  to  them,  are  home. 
Yet  little  thought  to  fear  they  gave, 
When  once  embarked  upon  the  wave  ; 
The  mettled  steed  that  mocks  the  wind 
Had  scarcely  left  their  fleet  behind, 

So  rapid  was  their  flight ; 
And  ere,  adown  the  golden  west, 


ENSEDORE.  23 

The  second  sun  had  sunk  to  rest, 

Their  oar-blades  flashed  his  light, 
Where  Trenton's  wild  and  wizard  stream4 
Flows  darkly,  like  a  troubled  dream. 

XVI. 

Yet  not  by  fear  alone  impelled, 
So  far  their  westward  course  they  held. 
Congenial  arts,  war  and  the  chase, 
By  turns  employ  the  savage  race  ; 

And  wanderers,  like  the  Northern  Hun, 
It  was  their  annual. wont  to  pay 
A  visit  to  the  lands  that  lay 

Afar  toward  the  setting  sun. 
There  game  profuse  was  ever  found, 
There  was  their  chosen  hunting  ground, 
Amid  the  seven  fair  lakes  that  lie  6 
Like  mirrors  'neath  the  summer  sky. 

XVII. 

There,  oft,  the  fervid  heat  to  shun, 
What  time  the  Lion  holds  the  Sun,8 
The  panting  deer  resort  to  lave 
Their  burning  breasts  within  the  wave  ; 
There,  'neath  the  cool  translucent  tide, 
The  finny  race  were  seen  to  glide, 


24  ENSENORE. 

And  in  the  overarching  blue 
Circling  afar,  the  wild-fowl  flew ; 
Embowered  within  the  silent  wood 
Reposed  each  calm  and  placid  flood  ; 
Unknown  to  them  the  cumbrous  keel, 
Unknown  the  sound  of  plashing  wheel, 
Sped  not  before  the  evening  gale, 
As  now,  the  light  and  snowy  sail, 
And  all  unheard  in  glen  or  glade 
The  voice  or  laugh  of  merry  maid : 
O'er  silent  lakes  and  silent  streams 
The  morning  shed  its  golden  beams, 
O'er  deep  ravine  and  wooded  hill, 
O'er  solemn  forests  dark  and  still ; 
And  when  at  eve  the  gentle  breeze 

From  far  its  spicy  treasures  bore, 
Bowed  'neath  its  breath  the  graceful  trees, 

And  waves  went  murmuring  to  the  shore. 

XVIII. 

'  Such  was  the  fairy  land  they  sought, 
A  land  with  countless  beauties  fraught, 
Far  distant  from  the  Mohawk's  vale, 
And  long  and  faintly  marked  the  trail. 
They  leave  the  river  near  its  source, 
And  westward  hold  their  devious  course, 


ENSENOBE.  25 

Nor  fear  to  leave  upon  the  shore 
Their  birchen  boats  required  no  more  : 
Others  await  them  at  the  lakes 
Concealed  like  these  by  bush  and  brakes. 
At  times  through  trackless  woods  they  rove, 

The  only  chart  their  way  to  show 
By  night,  the  glittering  stars  above, 

By  day,  the  humble  moss  below.7 
Kathreen,  compelled  what  time  she  could, 
With  them  must  thrid  the  pathless  wood  ; 
And  when  her  limbs,  too  lithe  and  frail, 
With  toil  unwont,  entirely  fail, 
On  boughs  from  branching  hemlocks  torn, 
A  litter  soft,  the  maid  is  borne. 
But  yet  she  had  no  cause  to  bless 
Her  foes  for  seeming  tenderness, 
For  well  —  alas,  too  well !  —  she  knows 
The  grace  the  Indian  captor  shows 
To  those  of  whom  he  has  not  need, 
Whene'er  ihey  fail  in  strength  or  speed, 
Gleams  in  the  glittering  scalping-knife, 
A  brief  discharge  from  tedious  life. 
And  such  a  doom  the  captive  maid 
Had  thought  was  hers  ;  for  such  she  prayed, 
1'nryed  with  her  faint  and  failing  breath, 
A  suppliant  for  the  boon  of  death. 
3 


26  ENSENORE. 

XIX. 

Three  times  the  setting  sun  has  shed 

Its  light  upon  their  forest  way  ; 
Three  times  the  shades  of  night  have  fled, 
While,  in  her  guarded  bough-built  bed, 

Kathreen,  unsleeping,  waits  the  day ; 
And  the}*,  at  earl}-  eve,  have  found 
Their  favorite  western  hunting  ground, 
Upon  the  shore  of  that  fair  lake, 

Whose  waters  are  the  clearest,  brightest, 
Whose  silver  surges  ever  break 

Upon  her  pebbled  margin,  lightest ; 
Where  dips  the  lark  her  sportive  wings, 
And  where  the  robin  redbreast  sings, 
And  where,  in  many  a  shaded  dell, 
The  viewless  echoes  love  to  dwell. 


ENSENOKE. 

PART    II. 


ENSENORE. 


PART  n. 
I. 

OWASCO'S  waters  sweetly  slept,8 

Owasco's  banks  were  bright  and  green, 
The  willow  on  her  margin  wept, 

The  wild-fowl  on  her  wave  were  seen, 
And  nature's  golden  charms  were  shed 
As  richty  round  her  quiet  bed, 
From  flowered  mead  to  mountain  brow, 
A  century  since,  as  the}"  are  now  ; 
The  same  pure  purple  light  was  flung 

At  morn  across  the  water's  breast ; 
The  same  rich  crimson  curtains  hung 

At  eve  around  the  glowing  west. 
We  watch  to-day,  with  beaming  e}*e 

And  raptured  heart,  that  glorious  view  ; 

3*  29 


30  ENSENORE. 

But  then  unnoticed  spread  the  sky 

Its  canopy  of  spotless  blue  ; 
Unnoticed,  back  to  heaven  the  wave 
That  azure  sky's  pure  semblance  gave. 

II. 

'Twas  evening :  o'er  the  waters  blue 
The  setting  sun  his  radiance  threw, 
Flinging  o'er  hill  and  dale  and  stream 
A  mellowed  light,  a  farewell  beam ; 
And  where,  afar,  the  forests  rise, 
With  their  green  surface  to  the  skies, 
Shedding  o'er  that  a  shower  of  light, 
While  all  beneath  was  dark  as  night. 
Alas  !  not.  theirs  alone  the  case, 

(This  tale  their  fabled  tongues  impart) 
So  smiles  may  linger  on  the  face, 

Long  after  they  have  left  the  heart. 

III. 

What  boat  flies  round  that  mimic  cape, 
So  silent  on  the  silver  stream, 

Its  second  self  in  size  and  shape, 
Reflected  by  the  wateiy  beam  ? 

Though  all  unheard  its  paddle's  beat, 
Unseen  its  wake  upon  the  wave, 


ENSENORE.  31 

The  restless  spirit's  not  more  fleet, 

At  dawn,  returning  to  the  grave  ; 
Onward,  still  onward,  fast  and  far, 

Toward  yon  distant  light  that  gleams, 
Like  the  horizon's  earliest  star, 

Amid  the  day's  retiring  beams, 
It  speeds  —  and,  though  there's  many  a  mile 

That  beacon  and  that  boat  between, 
'Twill  reach  its  goal  ere  the  first  smile 

From  heaven's  lamps  illumes  the  scene. 

IV. 

A  single  oar  that  boat  propelled,* 
A  single  occupant  it  held  ; 
Who  saw  him,  as  he  onward  sped, 
His  cap  of  fur,  his  plume  of  red, 
His  gaudy  dress  and  painted  face, 
The  trophies  of  his  mountain  chase, 
His  beaded  belt  compactly  tied 
With  all  a  Narraghausett's  pride,10 
The  jewels  pendent  from  his  ear, 
His  oaken  bow  and  quiver  near, 
His  arm  of  bronze,  inured  to  brave 

Unscreened  the  summer's  burning  heat ; 
The  broidered  moccasins  that  gave 

A  grace  to  his  converging  feet  ;u 


32  ENSENORE. 

His  sinewy  frame,  his  noble  air, 

His  lofty  brow  and  martial  frown,  — 
"Who  saw  him  thus  might  well  declare 

A  sachem  he  of  high  renown. 
Yet  not  a  Narraghansett  he, 
Nor  Delaware,  nor  Shawanee  ; 
Huron  nor  Ottawa  his  race,12 
Nor  his  a  Tuscaroran  face  ; 
Nor  led  he  e'er  to  battle  forth, 
The  five  fierce  nations  of  the  North.13 
The  region  where  his  tribe  belong 
Is  unenshrined  in  tale  or  song  : 
That  chart  must  yet  be  drawn,  I  ween, 
On  which  their  hunting  grounds  are  seen. 

V. 

Who,  then,  is  he,  who  braves  the  wrath 

Of  Indians  in  their  forest  home. 
And  treads  alone  his  dangerous  path, 

Where  the  fierce  Huron  warriors  roam, 
A  race  whose  war-creed  knows  no  name 

For  mercy  to  a  captive  foe, 
Save  that  which  with  a  fiercer  flame 

Or  surer  stroke  concludes  his  woe  ? 
Hopes  he,  though  in  profound  disguise, 
To  shun  the  vigilance  of  63-68 


EXSENOKE.  33 

Which  mark  upon  his  mountain  height 
The  eagle  in  his  loftiest  flight  ? 
Steady  must  be  his  nerves,  and  calm, 
Who  in  such  strait  shows  not  alarm  ; 
But,  haply,  his  is  errand  high 
Which  he  must  gain,  or,  losing,  die  : 
Else  were  his  bark  less  fleetly  bent 
Toward  his  deadliest  foemen's  tent. 

VI. 

If,  ere  the  cloud-escorted  sun 

Had  sunk  beneath  th'  horizon's  edge, 
While  lingered  yet  his  beams  upon 

Each  verdant  spot  and  rocky  ledge, 
And,  in  a  line  of  living  light, 

Their  radiance  o'er  the  waters  threw, 
The  scene  was  such  as  never  night 

In  all  its  solemn  beauty  knew ; 
Yet  fair  beyond  the  power  of  pen, 

The  art  of  pencil,  to  portray, 
In  quiet  beauty,  even  then, 

Thy  silver  wave,  Owasco,  lay. 
What  though  thy  charms,  in  twilight  veiled, 

Grew  indistinct  upon  the  eye  ? 
What  though  the  far-off  bark  that  sailed 

Seemed  floating  in  the  adjacent  sky? 


34  ENSENORE. 

Though  shrouded  in  the  distance  lives 
Full  many  a  prospect  green  and  gay, 

The  fertile  fancy  ever  gives 

More  charms  than  darkness  takes  away. 

VII. 

'Twas  not  a  beacon  on  the  shore, 

By  maiden's  fairy  fingers  hung, 
Which  had  its  trembling  radiance  o'er 

That  mystic  boatman's  pathway  flung  ; 
But  on  an  elevated  site, 

Near  where  the  savages  had  raised 
Their  wigwam  walls,  the  glowing  light 

Of  arid  leaves  and  branches  blazed. 
Lighting  afar  the  sylvan  scene, 

The  dry  and  crackling  fuel  burned, 
And,  though  their  glittering  knives  were  seen, 
All  terrorless  was  now  their  sheen, 

To  culinary  purpose  turned. 
This  was  the  light  that  served  to  guide 
His  pathway  o'er  the  waters  wide, 
And  never  had  a  watch-light  given 

To  shipwrecked  mariner  such  bliss, 
As  did  the  stranger's  heart  enliven, 

When  first  he  met  the  rays  of  this. 


ENSENORE.  35 

VIII. 

Their  tent  had  scarce  been  pitched  an  hour, 
Scarcely  an  hour  their  fir,e  had  glowed, 

Ere,  fearless,  toward  their  merry  bower, 
That  skilled  and  rapid  boatman  rowed. 

Silent  he  moored  his  light  canoe, 

His  bow  upon  his  shoulder  threw  ; 

Needs  it  to  name  that  on  the  shore, 

Beneath  that  guise,  stood  ENSENORE? 

Long  on  their  trail  the  youth  had  been, 

And  that  same  day  had  passed  unseen, 

That  thus,  as  from  a  different  way 

He  might  appear  by  chance  to  stray 

Near  where  their  evening  tent-fires  glare, 

And  seem  by  them  attracted  there. 

IX. 

The  various  arts  in  peace  and  war, 
Of  that  rude  race,  knew  ENSENORE  ; 
Full  well  their  dialect  he  knew, 
Their  customs  and  their  cunning  too, 
Could  imitate  their  scalp-halloo,14 

And  chant  the  warrior's  dirge  j15 
And  fleet  of  foot,  and  strong  of  limb, 
None  in  the  chase  could  distance  him 

O'er  vale  or  mountain  verge. 


36  ENSENOKE. 

X. 

Words  may  not  tell  the  fearful  power 
Of  thought  and  feeling  in  that  hour  : 
One  moment  more  would  serve  to  show 
All  that  on  earth  he  sought  to  know. 
If  yet  she  lived,  —  his  loved  Kathreen, 
If  yet  she  lived,  and  might  be  seen, 
One  only  glance  of  that  dear  face, 
E'en  there,  within  that  fearful  place, 
Unnumbered  dangers  frowning  near, 
Himself  an  object  of  her  fear, 
Would  still  a  thousand-fold  repay 
The  pains  and  perils  of  his  way  ; 
And,  though  he  deemed  his  deep  disguise 
Impervious  e'en  to  Indian  eyes, 
If  she  were  not,  he  little  recks 
How  soon  his  head  the  death-cap  decks  ;16 
His  tortured  heart  would  gladly  make 
A  refuge  of  the  flame  and  stake. 

XI. 

Approaching  now  the  wigwam  door, 
A  mien  composed  and  calm  he  bore. 
Entered,  with  still  yet  stately  pace, 
Unquestioned  by  that  stoic  race, 
By  whom  't  were  counted  deep  disgrace 


ENSENORE.  37 

To  show  surprise  or  awe,  whate'er 

Betides  of  wonder  or  of  fear. 

They  question  not  their  guest,  and  yet 

When  their  mute  courtesies  have  passed, 
And  he  has  smoked  the  calumet, 

And  joined  them  in  their  rude  repast, 
Full  well  he  knows,  with  anxious  ear, 
His  name  and  tribe  they'll  wait  to  hear. 

XII. 

Yet  did  they  not  by  word  or  sign 

Their  hospitable  rites  impair : 
Such  duties  do  they  hold  divine, 

Nor  stealthy  look  nor  open  stare 
Once  met  the  stranger's  hurried  view, 
As  round  the  crowd  his  dark  eye  flew  ; 
'Twas  well  for  him,  they  viewed  him  not 
When  first  on  a  secluded  spot 
Of  their  pavilion  wild  it  fell, 
Encountering  one  he  knew  full  well. 

XIII. 

On  a  rude  couch,  alone,  aloof, 

Sat,  half  reclining,  poor  Kathreen. 
His  bosom  had  been  pitj'-proof, 

Who  without  tears  that  sight  had  seen : 


38  ENSENORE. 

O'er  her  white  robe,  which  yet  retained 
Its  snowy  hue,  though  travel-stained, 
Neglected,  hung  her  flowing  hair, 
And  curled  in  untaught  beauty  there  ; 
One  hand  upheld  her  marble  brow, 
Perturbed  and  pale  and  clouded  now, 
And  one  —  oh,  well  knew  ENSENORE 
Each  golden  circlet  that  it  bore  — 
Hung  all  unheeded  at  her  side, 
By  many  a  wondering  warrior  eyed. 
Though  the  first  fear,  the  horror-trace, 
Had  vanished  from  her  lovely  face, 
A  settled  look  of  hopeless  woe 

Of  anguish  unalloj-ed,  was  there, 
And  ceaseless  was  the  silent  flow 

Of  tears  that  told  her  deep  despair. 

XIV. 

The  j'outh's  first  impulse  was  to  start, 
And  clasp  the  maiden  to  his  heart ; 
At  second  thought,  his  flashing  eye 

Calm,  passionless,  and  cold  became, 
While  from  his  lips  escaped  a  sigh 

So  slight  'it  scarce  deserved  the  name  ; 
Yet  was  it  heard,  —  distinct  and  clear 
It  fell  upon  the  captive's  ear : 


ENSENORE.  39 


There  seemed  some  magic  in  the  sound, 
So  wildly  gazed  the  maid  around  ; 
Her  eye  with  brighter  lustre  burned, 
More  pale  her  ashen  features  turned, 
While  hopes  and  fears,  a  stormy  train, 
Swept  lightning-like  across  her  brain. 


XV. 

But  when  her  mind  more  calm  became, 
And  more  composed  her  trembling  frame, 
With  rapid  eye  the  maiden  scanned 
Each  warrior  of  that  gloomy  band, 
Seeking  the  source  of  that  light  sigh, 

That  breathed  of  respite  from  her  doom, 
Awakening  dreams  of  days  .gone  by, 

And  hopes  of  happiness  and  home. 
But  ah  !  more  cold  her  bosom  grew, 
As  o'er  that  crowd  her  quick  eye  flew, 
And  as  from  face  to  face  it  passed, 
Each  sterner,  fiercer,  than  the  last ; 
Nor  deemed  she,  when  her  eye  approached 

And  lingered  on  the  stranger  chief, 
That  such  an  one  could  have  encroached 

On  her  prerogative  of  grief. 


40  ENSENORE. 

XVI. 

Meanwhile  tlie  youth  in  gutt'ral  tone, 

In  their  own  tongue,  proceeds  to  tell 
Of  wandering  from  his  tribe,  alone, 

Who  in  far  western  forests  dwell, 
As  far  beyond  the  tribes  that  stay 
Near  the  great  cataract's  ceaseless  spraj*,17 
As  westward  of  the  Hurons  the}' ; 
Where,  on  a  shell-strewn  island,  stands 
A  bell  not  made  bj-  mortal  hands,18 
By  which,  when  they  neglect  to  pay 

Due  sacrifice,  their  ears  were  stunned : 
He  could  not  tell  how  far  the  wa}*, 

The  sun  went  down  but  just  beyond  ! 
Niperceans  they,  a  race,  he  said, 
Of  whom  himself,  the  honored  head, 
Was  known  afar,  by  friend  and  foe, 
The  firm  and  fearless  Ivanough.19 

XVII. 

"  I  need  not  tell  the  story  o'er 
Known  well,"  he  said,  "  to  you.  before, 
How  from  the  northern  water's  shore 
Before  the  Iroquois  we  fled,20 
Compelled  to  leave  the  sacred  dead. 


ENSENORE.  41 

Now  all  unhonored  is  the  sod 

That  rises  o'er  their  loved  remains ; 
By  strangers'  feet  their  graves  are  trod, 

And  much  my  father's  ghost  complains. 
The  time  may  come  —  I  will  not  boast, 
But  I  have  yet  a  hardy  host, 
Whose  hearts  with  hopes  of  vengeance  burn 

For  their  long  years  of  grief  and  toil  — 
The  time  may  come  when  I  return 

With  blade  and  brand  to  claim  my  soil ; 
Meanwhile  my  royal  rights  I  waive, 
And  as  a  pilgrim  seek  the  grave 

Where  my  ancestral  relics  lie  ; 
And,  if  that  name  protect  me  not 
From  foes  who  haunt  that  hallowed  spot, 
I  am  content  to  die." 

XVIII. 

How  oft  upon  his  lonely  route 

He  paused  to  chase  the  forest  deer ; 
How  oft  to  catch  the  wily  trout 

In  some  bright  brook  that  murmured  near ; 
And  how,  while  pausing  near  the  lake 
His  little  bark  canoe  to  make, 
With  which  along  its  stream  to  glide 
Toward  the  Ontario's  distant  tide, 
4« 


42  ENSENORE. 

Their  curling  smoke  that  climbed  the  sky 
Had  caught  by  chance  his  roving  e^ye, 
And  lured  him  here,  a  wear}-  guest, 
B}7  travel  worn  and  heat  oppressed,  — • 
With  ear  attent,  they  hear  him  tell, 
Their  only  comment,  "  It  is  well !  " 

XIX. 

His  rich  regalia  then  they  view, 
Admire  awhile  the  royal  hue 

Of  his  imperial  plume, 
Nor  doubted  that,  where  lay  afar 
His  home  beneath  the  western  star, 

Its  very  nod  were  doom. 
They  then  relate  their  recent  fight, 

With  exultation  high, 
And  tell,  how  in  the  dead  of  night, 
B}'  their  wrapt  dwellings'  blazing  light, 

They  saw  their  victims  die  ; 
And  how  their  chieftain  rescued  there 

From  'neath  the  upraised  knife, 
A  maiden  young  and  pale  and  fair, 
And  bade  them  treat  with  fitting  care 

His  future  favorite  wife. 
Fair  as  that  star  of  silver  light 
Which  heralds  the  approach  of  night, 


ENSENOKE.  43 

"Was  she,  that  captive  maid,  they  said : 
And  graceful  as  the  sportive  fawn, 
Whose  feet  in  yonder  verdant  lawn 

Scarce  crush  the  flowers  on  which  they  tread. 

XX. 

On  secret  expedition  gone, 

That  chief,  they  said,  almost  alone 

Had  left  their  camp  three  nights  before  ; 
Four  chosen  warriors  with  him  went,21 
All  trebly  armed  ;  their  steps  they  bent 

Toward  the  Ontario's  shore. 
Thej'  did  not  know  nor  dare  to  ask 
The  nature  of  their  secret  task, 
But  by  their  dark  and  threatening  look, 
The  many  weapons  which  they  took, 

Their  moccasins  reversed,22 
Full  well  they  guessed,  ere  now,  the  blow 
Upon  some  unsuspecting  foe 

With  fearful  force  had  burst. 
But,  ere  he  left,  he  bade  them  make 
Their  camp  beside  the  Pleasant  Lake  ; 
And  thither  yon  fair  maiden  take. 
That  chief  would  join  them  soon,  they  said, 

And  much  they  talked  of  pastime  gay 
When  he,  the  Eagle-eye,  should  wed 

The  lost  maid  of  Schenectada. 


EN  S  EN  O  RE 

PART    III. 


ENSENORE. 


PART   III. 

I. 

'Tis  morn  ;  and,  'neath  the  sportive  wing 

Of  the  "  sweet  south,"  the  leaves  are  waving, 
And  shoreward,  gently  murmuring, 

Owasco's  waves  her  beach  are  laving. 
What  maiden  wanders  on  the  shore, 

And  freights  the  zephyrs  with  her  sighs, 
•Now  breathes,  unconscious,  "  ENSENORE," 

Now  turns  to  heaven  her  praj'erful  eyes  ? 
'Tis  she,  the  lost  of  Mohawk's  vale, 

A  captive  in  this  distant  land, 
O'er  whom  the  very  breezes  wail, 

That  sweep  across  that  desert  strand. 
This  had  she  deemed  a  day  of  grace, 
For  forth  unto  the  forest  chase 

47 


48  ENSENORE. 

The  warriors  of  the  tribe  had  gone, 
And,  in  the  view  of  those  who  keep 
Their  tent  adjacent,  she  might  weep 

In  this  secluded  spot  alone. 
But,  ah  !  it  may  not  be :  she  sees, 
Emerging  from  the  forest  trees, 

Another  of  that  fearful  race, 
A  hunter  from  his  comrades  strayed, 
His  gaud}'  dress  a  chief  betrayed, 

But  strange  to  her  his  face. 

II. 

Kathreen,  iu  that  dread  hour  when  flashed 

Before  her  eyes  the  glittering  knife. 
Had  seen  the  chief  whose  strong  arm  dashed 

The  blow  aside  that  sought  her  life, 
And  had  retained  through  her  alarm 

That  scowling  brow,  that  blood-red  plume, 
That  braceleted  and  brawny  arm 

Averting  her  descending  doom ; 
But  many  a  da}*  had  passed,  and  yet 
The  maid  and  chieftain  had  not  met ; 
Though  well  she  guessed  that  on  his  breath 
Would  hang  her  doom,  of  life  or  death  ; 
That  his  return  —  or  soon  or  late  — 
Would  be  decisive  of  her  fate, 


ENSENORE.  49 

And,  by  the  fiery  plume  that  now 
Waved  o'er  that  dark  and  lofty  brow, 
She  guessed  —  her  soul  with  horror  rife  — 
The  sacheni  this  who  saved  her  life. 

III. 

Nor  were  her  growing  fears  allayed, 
When,  distant  far,  a  pause  he  made, 
And  bending  to  the  earth  his  knee, 
A  token  mute  of  amity, 
He  grasped  his  sturdy  bow  of  oak, 
And  backward  bent  it  till  it  broke, 
From  beaded  belt  his  hatchet  drew, 
And  far  the  shining  weapon  threw, 
And  then  with  statety  step  and  slow 
Advanced,  still  bowing  oft  and  low  ; 
For,  if  she  sees  each  friendly  sign, 
She  fails  its  meaning  to  divine, 
Nor  does  she  wish  her  foe  to  part 
With  gleaming  knife  or  pointed  dart, 
Would  he  but  plant  them  in  her  heart, 
And  set  her  prisoned  spirit  free 
From  its  unmeasured  agony. 

IV. 

He  pauses,  speaks,  "  Kathreen  !  Kathreen !  " 
She  does  not  hear  :  her  streaming  eyes 

5 


50  ENSENORE. 

See  but  that  savage  face  and  mien,  «. 

Then  with  new  strength  she  tarns  and  flies. 
"  Kathreen  !  Kathreen  !  oh,  stay,  love,  stay  ! 
'Tis  I  that  calls,"  cried  ENSENORE. 
In  vain  !  less  fleet  at  close  of  clay, 
The  eagle  on  his  mountain  way, 
When  hastening  homeward  with  his  prey  : 

That  maid  is  seen  no  more. 

V. 

Oh,  that  he  could  pursue  her  flight, 

Nor  add  new  terrors  to  her  fright ! 

That  dread  disguise,  that  painted  face, — 

Oh,  how  he  cursed  that  hated  race  ! 

How  fast  his  maddened  pulses  play ! 

He  dare  not  go,  he  cannot  stay  ; 

With  burning  brain  and  sickening  fears, 

He  shouts  again,  but  only  hears 

The  elfin  echo  mock  his  cry, 

"  O  love,  return  !  'tis  I,  tis  I ! " 

VI. 

Back  to  the  camp  the  maid  has  fled, 
The  hunter  to  the  chase  returned, 

Where,  ere  the  summer's  day  had  sped, 
A  name  for  daring  high  he  earned  ; 


ENSENORE.  51 

None  a  less  erring  bow  could  bend, 
Or  surer  aim,  or  farther  send 
The  whizzing  shaft,  —  none  fleeter  chase 
The  elk  upon  his  mountain  race  ; 
And  much  his  comrades  rough  admire 
His  bearing  bold,  his  gay  attire, 
And  in  their  rude  salutes  expressed 
The  praises  due  the  stranger  guest. 

VII. 

The  sun  is  rolling  down  the  sky, 
The  evening  breeze  is  floating  by  ; 
Hushed  are  the  notes  of  forest  bird, 
The  wnippoorwill  alone  is  heard, 
Sending  her  plaintive  voice  afar 
Upon  the  silent  evening  air ; 
And  night  has  called  the  warriors  back 
From  panther  chase,  and  wild  deer  track ; 
And  in  their  tent  each  man  repeats 
The  story  of  his  hunting  feats, 
"While  all  agree,  no  trophies  bore 
Compare  to  those  of  ENSENORE. 

VIII. 

As  some  lone  rose  by  summer  blast 
Uptorn  and  in  the  desert  cast, 


52  ENSENORE. 

Whose  fading  beauties  still  are  fair, 
Whose  fragrance  freights  the  forest  air,  — 
So  'mid  that  dusky  horde  Kathreen 
Pale,  wretched,  and  forlorn  was  seen  ; 
Yet,  on  surrounding  darkness  thrown, 
Her  charms  with  dazzling  radiance  shone, 
And  to  her  lover's  watchful  eye 

She  seemed  a  being  all  divine, 
One  star  upon  a  clouded  sky, 

One  sunbeam  in  Siberian  mine. 

IX. 

Her  trembling  eye  in  terror  viewed 

The  trophies  o'er  the  tent-floor  strewed, — • 

The  savage  panther's  gory  head, 

The  gentle  deer  yet  scarcely  dead, 

The  catamount  with  glaring  eye, 

Frowning  defiance  e'en  in  death, 
The  hapless  squirrel  bleeding  nigh, 

And  struggling  with  its  failing  breath. 
Unwonted  sights  and  sounds  were  these 
To  maiden  nurtured  at  her  ease, 
Within  a  home  with  pleasures  rife, 
And  all'  the  luxuries  of  life  ; 
And  when,  from  the  revolting  view, 
Kathreen  her  saddened  eye  withdrew, 


ENSENORE.  53 

From  underneath  the  downcast  lid, 
The  silvery  tears  successive  slid, 
And  glistened  on  her  cheek  of  snow, 
With  all  the  eloquence  of  woe. 

X. 

She  had  not  doubted  that  the  chief 
With  crimson  plume  and  beaded  belt, 

Who,  as  in  mockery  of  her  grief, 
Upon  the  pebbled  beach  had  knelt, 

Was  he-  for  whom  —  a  destined  wife  — 

Had  been  preserved  her  hapless  life  ; 

And  when  she  heard  the  boisterous  mirth, 

To  which  the  maddening  bowl  gave  birth,28 

As,  seated  round  the  festive  board 

Rudely  but  plentifully  stored, 

The  dusky  warriors  threw  aside 

Their  air  of  cold  and  cautious  pride, 

With  hasty  glance,  the  captive  maid 

Their  dark  and  stalwart  frames  surveyed, 

Seeking  the  object  of  her  fear, 

And  dreading  she  should  find  him  near. 

XI. 

Nor  sought  she  long :  the  warrior's  sash 
Was  glistening  almost  at  her  side, 

5* 


54  ENSENORE. 

She  saw  his  dark  eye's  haughty  flash, 

That  seemed  to  speak  of  power  and  pride, 
And  heard  Jtis  voice !    Strange  that  its  tone, 
Uttering  a  language  all  unknown, 
Should  summon,  like  a  passing  dream, 

The  memory  of  her  hours  of  mirth, 
The  murmuring  of  the  mountain  stream. 

The  joys  of  the  paternal  hearth  ; 
Rapid  and  wild  and  undefined 

The  mental  panorama  passed, 
Gilding  the  clouds  that  o'er  her  mind 

Their  dark  and  fearful  shadows  cast. 

XII. 

The  feast  went  on  ;  and  some  relief, 

The  wretched  maiden  felt,  that  she 
Remained  unnoticed  by  the  chief 

Amid  the  growing  revelry  ; 
But,  when  she  marked  his  courteous  air 
Toward  all  his  savage  comrades  there, 
She  doubted  whether  this  could  be 

That  chieftain  known  so  well  to  fame, 
That,  even  in  her  infancy, 

She  trembled  at  his  name  ; 
Nor  doubted  long,  for  even  then, 
Followed  by  four  athletic  men 


ENSENORE.  55 

Armed  each  with  bow  and  battle-knife, 
Yet  reeking  from  the  recent  strife, 
The  sachem  entered  at  the  door, 
And  crossed,  with  statel}'  step,  the  floor. 

XIII. 

Two  hearts  beat  wildly  at  that  sight : 
Kathreen  turned  pale  with  new  affright ; 
And  ENSENORE  —  when  his  first  view 

Told  him  the  Eagle-Eye  was  near, 
'Twas  well  his  artificial  hue 

"Was  fixed  be}-ond  the  reach  of  fear ; 
'Twas  but  a  moment :  he  became 

Himself  again  at  second  breath, 
Remembering  that  he  played  a  game, 

Where  one  false  move  were  certain  death. 
Too  well  he  knew  each  Indian  trait 

To  show  one  symptom  of  surprise, 
And,  seeming  still  with  drink  elate, 

He  quietly  withdrew  his  eyes, 
Called  for  the  bowl,  with  careless  laugh, 
And  quaffed,  or  seemed  at  least  to  quaff. 

XIV. 

Meanwhile  the  chief,  in  silent  pride, 
Glanced  at  the  revellers  at  his  side, 


56  EKSEXORE. 

A  moment  bent  his  flashing  eye 
Upon  the  maiden  trembling  nigh, 
And  unaddressed,  addressing  none, 
Seated  himself  apart,  alone, 
Then  fired  his  favorite  calumet, 

And  seemed  unconscious  of  the  world, 
As  round  his  lengthened  locks  of  jet  ** 

The  fragrant  wreaths  in  silence  curled. 

XV. 

An  Indian  chieftain  is  content 
His  valor  on  his  foes  to  vent ; 
He  does  not  seek  in  awe  to  hold 
His  kinsmen  and  his  clansmen  bold  ; 
No  abject  fear  for  him  they  feel, 
Nor  know  the  courtly  art  to  kneel ; 
And  if,  upon  the  warriors'  cheer 

A  slight  restraint  his  presence  threw, 
It  was  not  from  a  servile  fear, 

But  from  respect,  the  feeling  grew. 

XVI. 

At  length  the  stern  and  stalwart  chief 

In  quiet  dignity  arose, 
And  in  emphatic  tones  and  brief. 

Told  of  encounter  with  his  foes. 


ENSENOBE. 

The  daring  of  his  little  band, 
The  willing  heart,  the  ready  hand, 
The  charging  shout,  the  fatal  blow, 
The  victory,  and  the  dying  foe  ; 
Then  pointed  with  an  Indian's  pride 
To  scalps  yet  reeking  at  his  side, 
And  counted,  with  a  miser's  care, 
To  see  that  each  red  tuft  was  there. 
All  listened  as  the  warrior  spoke, 

And  with  approving  smiles  replied  ; 
And,  when  he  closed,  loud  shouts  awoke, 

Of  triumph  and  of  martial  pride, 
And  scoffs  and  taunts  were  idly  shed 
On  the  mute  relics  of  the  dead. 

XVII. 

Then,  as  the  sachem's  eye  was  seen 

Upon  the  unknown  brave  to  dwell,"  a 
Arose  a  j'outh  of  gentle  mien 

And  soft  and  silver  voice,  to  tell 
The  history  of  the  favored  guest 
Who  sought  for  shelter  there  and  rest ; 
And  said  that  'mid  their  fair  domain 

The  pilgrim's  stay  would  be  but  brief, 
Though  he  would  willingly  remain 

To  grace  the  nuptials  of  the  chief. 


58  ENSESORE. 

"  'T  is  well :  see.thou  the  banquet  spread," 
The  haughty  Eagle-Eye  replied  : 

"  To-morrow's  setting  sun  shall  shed 
Its  beams  upon  the  chieftain's  bride." 


xvin. 

The  feast,  resumed,  bade  fair  to  last 
Until  the  midnight  hour  was  past ; 
For  soon  grew  voluble  each  tongue, 
And  loud  the  tent  with  laughter  rung. 
The  maiden  watched,  with  trembling  eye, 
Their  mirth  and  madness  rising  high, 
And  marvelled  when  she  saw  the  guest, 
More  gay  and  boisterous  than  the  rest, 
Urging  deep  draughts,  while  he  alone, 
Seeming  to  drink  the  most,  drank  none. 
She  heard  the  stranger's  voice  grow  loud, 
She  saw  him  rise  amid  the  crowd, 
And  point,  with  exultation  high, 
To  the  red  trophies  hanging  nigh  ; 
But  while  each  eye  is  fastened  there, 
And  shouts  ring  wildly  through  the  air, 
Why  turns  the  maiden's  cheek  more  pale? 
Why  do  her  sight,  her  senses,  fail? 


ENSENORB.  59 

XIX. 

Whence  or  from  whom,  she  could  not  tell ; 
But  'twas  a  folded  paper  fell, 

Alighting  at  her  feet ! 
She  held  her  breath  in  very  fear 
The  savages  should  pause  to  hear 

Her  heart's  tumultuous  beat. 
But,  by  each  dark  and  scowling  brow, 
Far  othtr  thoughts  employ  them  now  ; 
They,  by  their  guest's  wild  speech  enchained, 
All  heedless  of  the  maid  remained, 
Who,  unobserved,  the  billet  gained, 
And,  by  a  taper's  wavering  beams, 
Perused,  still  fearful  lest  she  dreams. 
One  glance  sufficed  that  note  to  scan ; 
Few  were  its  words,  and  thus  they  ran : 
"  At  midnight  on  Owasco's  shore, 
The  stranger  chieftain,  —  ENSENORE." 

XX. 

The  wild -bird  drops  his  merry  wings, 

And  falls,  unfluttering,  on  the  green, 
When  the  sure  rifle  'neath  him  rings, 

Less  quickly  far  than  fell  Kathreen. 
Slight  help  for  her,  the  swooned,  is  found  ; 
The  warriors,  wondering,  press  around. 


60  ENSENORE. 

And  none  of  all  that  stoic  race, 
"Who  gaze  on  her  seraphic  face, 
Pay  less  regard,  show  less  concern, 
Than  that  dark  stranger  proud  and  stern  ; 
Yet  with  quick  eye  marked  ENSENORE 
Where  fell  the  note  upon  the  floor, 
And,  seizing  it  with  feigned  surprise. 
Displayed  it  to  their  wondering  e}*es, 
As  doubtless  holding  some  strange  charm, 2 
Potent,  perhaps,  to  work  such  harm, 
Which,  of  her  sad  existence  tired, 
The  maid  had  gazed  on,  and  expired. 

XXI. 

But  ah  !  what  power  in  pen  or  tongue 
To  tell  the  agony  that  wrung 

The  lover's  generous  heart, 
Compelled  to  see,  with  reckless  air, 
His  loved  all  pale  and  lifeless  there, 

Nor  dare  his  aid  impart? 
Yet  all  the  woes  of  earth  combined, 

The  prospect  of  an  age  of  pain, 
All  that  e'en  savage  skill  could  find 

Of  torture,  would  have  frowned  in  vain 
To  hold  him  back,  if  he  alone 
Might  for  the  fatal  act  atone. 


ENSENORE.  61 

XXII. 

Pure  as  the  first  pale  tints  of  day, 
And  faintly  delicate  as  they, 
At  length  the  coming  color  seeks 
The  surface  of  her  snowy  cheeks  ; 
A  tremor  o'er  her  pale  lips  flies  ; 
The  blue-veined  eyelids  slowly  rise  ; 
And,  as  returning  memory  brought 
The  re-united  links  of  thought, 
Vanished  at  once  each  terror-trace, 
And  sudden  joy  suffused  her  face. 

XXIII. 

Long  had  the  maiden's  guileless  breast 

Within  its  secret  depths  concealed 
One  pure  affection  unconfessed, 

And  scarcely  to  herself  revealed  ; 
And  he  to  whom  her  gentle  heart 

Had  yielded  up  its  priceless  worth, 
That  love,  which,  like  the  flowers  that  start 

Unnoticed  from  the  vernal  earth, 
Blooms  but  more  beauteously  alone, 
Unculled,  uncherished,  and  unknown  ; 
He  who  had  mingled  with  each  theme 
Of  waking  thought  or  midnight  dream,  — 
6 


62  ENSENORE. 

He  stood  before  her,  —  come  to  save, 
Or  share  with  her  a  captive's  grave. 
And  she  was  loved :  the  thought  of  this, 

In  spite  of  fear,  in  danger's  spite, 
Poured  o'er  her  heart  a  flood  of  bliss, 

Of  deep  and  unalloyed  delight ; 
For,  oh  !  if  any  pain  hath  power 
Upon,  the  soul  in  such  an  hour  ; 
If  an}-  grief  there  be  to  chill 
The  heart's  first  jo}',  the  rapture-thrill, 
When  love,  the  growth  of  growing  years, 
Attested  by  a  thousand  tears, 
("Which  has  with  flame  unfaltering  burned, 

Though  fanned  by  Hope's  expiring  breath) 
Is  first  acknowledged  and  returned,  — 

It  must  be  something-  more  than  death. 


xxrv. 

Their  eyes  a  passing  moment  meet, 
And  linger  in  communion  sweet ; 
This  silent  language  of  the  soul 
Could  none  construe  and  none  control ; 
,It  told  in  her  blue,  brilliant  eye 
Of  strong  affection  rising  high, 


ENSENORE.  63 

All  sense  of  fear  and  pain  above  ; 
In  his,  the  answering  light  that  woke 
"With  an  electric  radiance  spoke 

The  deathless  energy  of  love. 

XXV. 

And  who  shall  blame"  the  hapless  maid, 

If  after  long  and  deep  distress, 
When  this  first  radiant  hope  of  aid 

Dawned  brightly  on  her  wretchedness, 
Forgetful  of  the  foes  who  frowned 
In  sullen  silence  still  around, 
And  thinking  only  of  that  youth, 
The  love, ""the  constancy  and  truth, 
Which  led  him  to  deserlrhis  home, 

And  take  his  lone  and  fearful  way 
Through  wilds  where  savage  monsters  roam, 

And  men  more^  savage  still  than  they, 
Which  gave  him  fortitude  to  brave 
For  her  the  desert  and  the  wave ; 
For  her  to  stand,  that  very  hour, 
Within  his  deadliest  foemen's  power ; 
Unconscious  that  to  others'  ears 

A  talismanic  charm  it  bore,  — 
She  turned  away,  with  falling  tears, 

And  breathed  the  name  of  ENSENORE  ! 


64  ENSENORE. 

XXVI. 

'Twas  lightly  spoken,  but  'twas  heard ! 
A  dozen  warriors  at  the  word 
Started  like  lightning  from  the  ground, 
And  gazed  with  flashing  eyes  around. 
While  on  their  swarthy  features  glow 

Alternate  looks  of  hate  and  fear, 
As  if  the}*  thought  to  see  their  foe, 

"With  retribution  armed,  appear. 
No  marvel  if  that  name  the}*  knew, 
For  with  the  firm  and  faithful  few 
"Who  had,  upon  that  night  of  blood, 
Awhile  their  whelming  hosts  withstood, 
That  name  had  been  the  rallying  cry, 
"Which,  echoing  to  the  vaulted  sky, 

Sent  sudden  terror  through  their  band ; 
And  many  a  Huron  mother  wept 
For  the  returnless  ones  who  slept 

Fallen  beneath  his  single  hand. 

XXVII. 

But  not  on  him,  their  courteous  guest, 
A  moment  did  suspicion  rest ; 
Or,  if  it  did,  it  was  allaj-ed 
When,  quickly  coming  to  their  aid, 


ENSENORE.  65 

The  stranger  asked  what  signs  of  harm 

They  were  that  seemed  to  give  alarm, 

And  offered  as  their  scout  to  go 

If  aught  they  feared  of  lurking  foe. 

And  when,  at  length,  their  fears  suppressed, 

They  one  by  one  retired  to  rest,  •* 

He  passed  near  where  the  maiden  lay, 

And,  looking  still  another  wa}r, 

"  Sleep  not,  Kathreen  !  "  he  whispered  low, 

Then  threw  himself  upon  the  ground, 
And,  far  as  outward  sign  could  show, 

None  slept  more  suddenly  or  sound. 

6* 


ENSENORE. 

PART    IV. 


ENSENORE. 


PART    IV. 

I. 

'TWAS  midnight ;   and  the  clouded  sky 

O'er-canopied  that  darkened  tent ; 
The  bird  of  night  flew  wildly  by  ; 

The  forest  'neath  the  blast  was  bent ; 
Not  darker,  deeper  is  the  gloom 
That  dwells  within  the  ra}rless  tomb  ; 
Came  from  the  lake  the  sullen  roar 
Of  billows  beating  on  the  shore  ; 
And,  as  the  frequent  lightning  threw 

A  sudden  glory  o'er  the  scene, 
The  opposing  forests  rose  to  view, 

And  all  the  watery  waste  between, 
Where  crested  waves  each  other  chase, 
*'  Like  snow}'  coursers  on  the  race." 

69 


70  ENSENORE. 

II. 

Beyond  his  hopes,  auspicious  fate 

Thus  far  had  favored  ENSENORE  : 
Worn  out  by  revel  long  and  late, 

The  warriors  slept  upon  the  floor, 
And,  through  the  tent,  a  taper  shed 

But  just  enough  of  light  to  show 
Where,  safe,  the  fugitives  might  tread, 

Nor  fear  to  rouse  a  sleeping  foe  ; 
But  words  are  powerless  to  portray 

The  ecstasy  of  hope  and  fear 
Which  o'er  the  maiden's  breast  held  sway 

Alternate,  as  the  hour  drew  near  ; 
And  seemed  her  throbbing  heart  to  burst 

When  ENSENORE 's  low  voice  she  heard, 
Bidding  her  make  the  trial  first, 

That,  if  the  dreaming  sentinel  stirred, 
His  ready  dagger  might  secure 
A  sleep  for  him  that  should  endure. 

III. 

But  watchful  ears  they  need,  I  ween, 
Who  hear  thy  fairy  feet,  Kathreen  ! 
The  summer's  dew  or  winter's  flake, 
Or  moonbeams  falling  on  the  lake, 


ENSENORE.  71 

As  soon  the  slumberer's  rest  might  break. 

White  as  the  snowy  robe  she  wore, 

With  spirit-step  she  treads  the  floor, 

And  glides  unchallenged  through  the  door. 

IV. 

Upon  the  beach  the  maiden  stood, 
Where  wildly  dashed  the  angry  flood, 
And  listened  long  in  vain  to  hear 
The  sound  of  footsteps  coming  near ; 
Alone  the  screech  of  boding  owl 

Is  heard  from  the  surrounding  trees, 
Or  from  afar  "  the  wolfs  long  howl" 

Borne  onward  with  the  passing  breeze. 
Slowly  the  lagging  moments  wear, 
Fraught  with  suspense  and  growing  pain, 
Still  puts  she  back  her  clustering  hair,  • 

And  looks  and  listens  still  in  vain. 

V. 

Faintly  she  calls  :  her  breath  is  lost 
Mid  dash  of  billows  tempest-tost ; 
But  she  is  answered !  one  long  cry 
From  countless  voices  rends  the  sky ! 
One  warrior  dashes  wildly  bjT, 


72  ENSENORE. 

And  calls  on  her  in  tones  that  wake 
The  echoes  o'er  that  boisterous  lake  ; 
'Tis  he,  discovered  and  pursued, 
In  search  of  whom  the  pathless  wood 
Is  filled  with  flitting  lights  that  glare 
Like  spectres  through  the  midnight  air  ; 
He  finds,  he  clasps  her  in  his  arms, 
And,  though  those  demon-like  alarms 
Ring  loud  and  louder  in  his  ear, 
The  lights  grow  brighter,  come  more  near, 
They  are  not  heard,  they  are  not  seen  ; 
He  clasps  his  own  loved,  lost  Kathreen. 

VI. 

One  moment,  and  that  trance  is  past, 
That  dream  of  bliss,  perhaps  his  last : 
Bearing  the  maid  within  his  arms, 
What  way  he  hears  the  least  alarms, 

Fleet  as  the  hunted  elk  he  flew 
Toward  a  cove  where  yesternight, 
Concealed  in  readiness  for  flight, 

He  moored  his  light  canoe. 
Meanwhile  the  foe  at  random  shot 
Where'er  they  knew  their  friends  were  not, 
And  hurtling  arrows  round  him  rained, 
Yet  all  unharmed  the  cove  he  gained, 


ENSENORE. 

Sought  for  his  faithful  bark,  and  found 
The  withe  with  which  that  bark  was  bound  ! 
Like  summer  friend  in  hour  of  need, 
That  boat  which  had  with  pride  and  speed 
Across  the  sunny  waters  sailed, 
Now,  when  its  aid  were  safety,  failed. 
It  rides  the  waves  afar  from  land, 
Cut  loose  by  some  designing  hand, 
Or  by  the  billows'  swell  alone  : 
It  matters  not :  his  boat  is  gone. 


VII. 

Well  may  his  spirit  falter  now, 
"Well  may  despair  o'ershade  his  brow  ; 
His  heart  beats  high  with  new  alarm  ; 
Kathreen  hangs  senseless  on  his  arm  ; 
Before  him  rolls  the  blackened  wave, 
Behind,  those  human  blood -hounds  rave, 
And,  hark !  the  very  vault  of  heaven 
"With  one  loud  cry  of  hate  is  riven,  — 
So  earthless  and  so  dread  a  yell, 
By  demons  from  their  home  in  hell, 
He  thought  had  ne'er  been  given. 
7 


74  ENSENORE. 

VIII. 

Yet,  for  a  passing  moment,  play 

Hope's  meteor-lights  upon  his  soul : 
One  half-mile  hence,  within  a  bay, 
A  fleet  of  birchen  barges  lay  ; 
While  passing  in  the  chase,  that  day, 

On  the  blue  waves  he  saw  them  roll. 
Now  if  he  can  that  harbor  gain  — 
Alas  !  that  hope  is  also  vain  : 
Unnumbered  torches  shed  their  light, 

Flitting,  like  fire-flies,  o'er  the  bay, 
And  there,  to  intercept  his  flight, 

A  band  of  well-armed  warriors  stay, 
While  others  scour  both  wood  and  shore 
Now  Heaven  help  lost  ENSENORE  ! 

IX. 

He  kneels  beside  the  dashing  wave, 
Kathreen's  death-colored  face  to  lave ; 
And  as  her  slowly-opening  eyes, 
Beaming  with  terror  and  surprise, 
Appeal  to  Heaven's  protecting  power 
For  succor  in  that  fearful  hour, 
He  hurries  briefly  to  relate 
Their  sad  extremity  of  fate, 


ENSENOEE.  75 

And,  pointing  to  the  blackened  sea,  — 
"  Kathreen,  I  live  or  die  with  thee. 
One  hope  remains  ;  'tis  slight,  'tis  frail ; 
Speedy  our  fate,  if  that  should  fail ; 
Look,  by  the  lightning's  lengthened  blaze, 
Where,  on  the  crested  billows,  plays 
My  little  bark :  say,  durst  thou  brave 
With  me  the  tempest  and  the  wave  ?  " 
"  I  dare  !  "  her  murmuring  voice  replied, 
And  onward,  in  the  swelling  tide, 
They  rush  unpausing,  undismayed, 
And  in  fast-deepening  waters  wade. 
But  when  compelled  at  last  to  swim 
The  instructed  maid  encircles  him 
With  one  light  arm,  while  his  are  free 
To  buffet  with  the  billowy  sea. 

X. 

Well  serves  him  now  each  feat  of  skill, 
To  pause  and  float,  or  turn  at  will, 
For  pastime  learned  in  earlier  day, 
When  with  the  mountain  waves  at  play ; 
But  better  serves  his  vigorous  arm, 

His  daring  and  his  dauntless  mind, 
Which  not  the  shouts  of  wild  alarm 

That  still  came  floating  on  the  wind 


76  ENSENORE. 

Could  for  a  moment  quell, 
Though  o'er  his  spirit  bold  at  length, 
When  in  the  waters  failed  his  strength, 

Despair's  dark  shadow  fell ; 
But  even  then,  with  failing  eye, 
He  sees  his  bark  careering  nigh : 
That  sight  revives  his  powers  ;  and  now 
His  hand  is  laid  upon  its  prow. 

XI. 

Brief  breathing  spell  to  him  is  given, 

And  hurried  thanks  ascend  to  Heaven  ; 

For  even  now  upon  the  shore, 

"Where  the}*  had  stood  short  space  before, 

A  cloud  of  savages  they  view, 

Searching  for  ENSENORE'S  canoe  ; 

In  vain  they  search  the  shore  ;  but  hark ! 

They  spy  upon  the  wave  the  bark  ; 

Then  through  the  forest  wild  and  high 

Rang  forth  their  fearful  battle-cry, 

And  the  rude  breeze  that  hurried  by 

Onward,  with  rapid  pinion,  bore 

The  gathering  cry  of  "  ENSENORE  !  " 

While  Echo  from  her  far  retreats 

The  fearful  signal  sound  repeats. 


ENSENORE. 

XII. 

As  rush  upon  their  game  the  pack 
When  loosened  first  upon  the  track, 
So  toward  their  guarded  harbor  flew 
Along  the  beach  that  vengeful  crew  ; 
And  soon,  well-manned,  each  bark  canoe 

Across  the  billow  wild  is  dancing, 
While,  like  the  mystic  lights  that  glare 
At  midnight  in  the  churchyard  air, 

The  torches  o'er  the  waves  are  glancing. 

XIII. 

The  light  that  o'er  the  landscape  flies, 
When  clouds  autumnal  skim  the  skies, 
Speeds  not  as,  in  that  hour  of  dread, 
Young  ENSENORE'S  lone  vessel  sped  ; 
The  flitting  shades  that  ever  chase 
Those  sunbeams  o'er  the  landscape's  face 
Fly  not  as  each  adverse  canoe 
Across  the  foaming  billows  flew, 
i 

XIV. 

Southward,  toward  the  Owasco's  source, 
Kept  ENSENORE  his  rapid  course, 

7« 


78  ENSENORE. 

And  ever,  as  the  frequent  flash 
Revealed  the  fugitives  to  view, 

Commingling  with  the  thunder's  crash, 
Rang  long  and  loud  the  death-halloo. 

O  ~ 

Such  shouts  the  native  warriors  use 
Their  foe  to  frighten  or  confuse  ; 
But  cool  of  mind,  and  strong  of  limb, 
No  artifices  baffle  him  ; 
One  powerful  arm  his  boat  propelled,27 
And  one  the  trembling  maiden  held  ; 
No  word  was  said,  no  glance  was  given  ; 
In  silence  rose  her  prayers  to  Heaven  ; 
While,  floating  free  and  unconfined, 
Streamed  her  Ions:  tresses  on  the  wind. 


Though  for  a  while  his  vessel  gained, 
Such  vantage  might  not  be  maintained 

By  his  unaided  oar  ; 
And,  though  beyond  his  foemen's  view, 
'Twere  vain  to  hold  his  course,  he  knew, 

And  vain  to  seek  the  shore. 
Skilled  to  discern  the  faintest  trail 
•    Of  human  step  on  sand  or  sod, 
When  morning's  light  should  flood  the  vale, 
Full  well  he  knew  they  would  not  fail 
To  strike  the  path  he  trod. 


ENSENORE. 

On  every  side  was  danger  near  ; 
Yet  yielded  not  the  youth  to  fear, 
But,  when  the  space  that  lay  between 
Was  such  that  nothing  might  be  seen, 
No  sound  could  reach  their  eager  ear, 
With  quick  and  well-directed  oar 

He  seeks  the  centre  of  the  lake, 
Turns  his  light  bark,  and,  dashing  o'er 

The  waves  that  round  his  vessel  break, 
Like  fox  that  doubles  on  his  track, 
With  lightning  speed  he  hurries  back, 
While  the  dim  lights  that  glisten  far, 

Trembling  beneath  the  breeze's  breath, 
To  him,  are  like  the  beacon-star, 

That  bids  the  sailor  shun  his  death. 

XVI. 

With  silent  but  with  rapid  stroke, 
The  muffled  oar  the  waters  broke, 
Though  slight  had  been  the  need  of  fear 
Of  any  save  the  practised  ear 

Of  Indian  on  the  chase, 
And  little  peril  from  the  sight 
Of  e'en  an  Indian  eye  that  night, 
Save  when  the  red  electric  light 

Illumed  the  water's  face. 


80  ENSENORE. 

Now  near  and  nearer  comes  the  foe, 

A  furlong  scarcely  lies  between, 
And  their  wild-waving  torches  throw 

A  lurid  light  upon  the  scene. 
More  near  !  he  sees  each  scowling  brow  ! 
"  O  Heaven  !  withhold  thy  lightnings  now  !  " 
With  throbbing  heart,  suspended  breath, 
And  face  as  colorless  as  death, 
His  pale  lips  painfully  compressed, 
His  oar  upraised  and  held  at  rest, 
Silent  he  sat,  with  flashing  eye, 
And  watched  their  dark  forms  flitting  by, 
And  heard,  in  tones  of  muttered  ire, 
Himself  condemned  to  funeral  pyre. 
So  rapidly  they  glided  past, 
He  breathed  not  till  he  saw  the  last, 
Then  dropped  his  oar  into  the  wave, 
And  to  his  boat  new  impulse  gave. 

XVII. 

Though  ever}7  breath  augments  the  space 
Between  them  and  their  foemen  now, 

Yet  still  unslackened  is  the  race 

Of  that  true  bark,  and  still  her  prow 

Points  outward  to  the  central  wave, 

And,  where  the  proudest  billows  rave, 


ENSENORE.  81 

Leaps,  laughing,  o'er  their  foaming  crest, 
At  home  amid  their  wild  unrest ; 
Nor  till  the  early  beams  of  day 
Through  the  far  east  had  found  their  way, 
They  paused,  where,  at  the  lake's  extreme, 
Its  waters  dwindle  to  a  stream. 
And  there,  beneath  the  waters  blue, 
Far  in  the  depths,  his  light  canoe 
Young  ENSENORE  concealed  from  view. 

XVIII. 

And  there  in  Nature's  temple  wide, 
Where  Nature's  priests  alone  preside, 

Whose  carpet  is  the  velvet  sod, 
Whose  dome,  the  glittering  arch  that  spans 
The  vast  creation  of  His  hands, 

Whose  light  the  smile  of  God  ; 
While  from  the  fragrant  flowers  arise 
Their  morning  incense  to  the  skies, 
To  Him  who  shields,  —  that  pair  impart 
The  grateful  homage  of  the  heart ; 
And  the  bright  stream  that  murmurs  by, 
The  winds  that  through  the  forest  fly, 
The  birds  whose  matin  carol  gave 
Its  treble  to  the  roaring  wave, 


82  ENSENORE. 

Together,  in  their  varying  ways, 
Respond  unto  their  Maker's  prase. 

XIX. 

The  storm  had  passed,  the  clouds  were  gone, 
And  the  pale  stars  that  o'er  them  shone 
Still  held  with  the  unfolding  day 
O'er  the  clear  sky  an  equal  sway, 
When,  through  the  dark  and  silent  wood, 
Their  path  of  peril  they  pursued. 
What  days  of  toil,  what  nights  of  fear, 
Made  up  their  long  and  lone  career, 
What  tears  of  gratitude  were  shed, 
What  vows  of  love  to  Heaven  were  sped, 
What  dangers  threatened,  woes  befell, 
'Twere  tedious  now  and  vain  to  tell. 

9 

XX. 

Suffice,  that  ere  the  seventh  sun 
His  cloud-pavilioned  goal  had  won, 
The  loved,  the  lost,  the  rescued  now, 
With  freshened  cheek  and  sunny  brow, 
Beheld  a  father's  smiling  face, 
Returned  a  father's  fond  embrace, 


ENSENOKE.  83 

Nor  tried  with  words  her  bliss  to  speak, 
When,  with  a  joy  that  verged  on  heaven, 

She  kissed  from  off  a  mother's  cheek 
The  tears  by  speechless  rapture  given. 

XXI. 

Suffice,  that  when  before  the  shrine 

Where  hands  are  joined  when  hearts  combine, 

In  ENSEXORE'S  dark  chestnut  hair 

That  curled  around  his  forehead  fair, 

In  his  complexion  clear  and  bright, 

His  dark  eye's  soft  and  gentle  light, 

And  in  his  mild  yet  manly  face, 

Kathreen  in  vain  essayed  to  trace 

Some  semblance  of  that  chieftain  red, 

From  whom,  scarce  three  brief  weeks  before, 
With  trembling  footsteps,  she  had  fled 

Upon  Owasco's  distant  shore. 


NOTE  S. 


O  T  E  S. 


NOTE  1. 

By  that  proud  mart.    P.  11. 

THE  city  of  Utica,  near  the  source  of  the  Mohawk,  is 
situated  within  a  few  miles  of  "  that  bloody  field  in  which 
Ilerkimer  fell." 

NOTE  2. 

Wild  Astorogan's  hills  arise.    P.  11. 

Astorogan  is  the  Indian  name  for  some  one  of  the  many 
masses  of  rocks  in  the  vicinity  of  what  is  now  the  roman 
tic  village  of  Little  Falls,  a  spot  which,  for  wild  and  mag 
nificent  scenery,  is  without  a  parallel  throughout  the  whole 
valley  of  the  Mohawk. 

NOTE  3. 

Foremost  of  whom,  young  Ensenore.  P.  15. 
Ensenore  is  an  Indian  name.  It  belonged  to  a  native 
chieftain  of  Virginia,  of  whom  Mr.  Thatcher  says  that 
"  he  was  the  best  friend,  next  to  Granganimo,  whom  the 
English  had  ever  found  among  the  natives."  It  is  per 
haps  unnecessary  to  say  that  it  is  adopted  here  rather  for 

87 


88  NOTES. 

its  singular  euphony,  than  for  any  other  cause  ;  though  the 
author  considers  it  not  a  violent  presumption  to  suppose 
that  the  name  of  so  celebrated  a  chief,  friendly  to  the 
Europeans,  would  become  ingrafted  upon  their  own  less 
elegant  patronymics,  and  perpetuated  among  their  children. 


4. 

Where  Trenton's  ivild  and  wizard  stream.  P.  23. 
The  West  Canada  Creek,  iu  which  are  the  celebrated 
Falls  of  Trenton,  connects  with  the  Mohawk  near  the 
beautiful  village  of  Herkimer;  and  the  ancient  trail  of 
the  Iroquois,  from  the  western  part  of  the  State,  struck 
the  river  somewhere  near  this  point.  The  author  has  this 
information  from  the  late  Gen.  Abraham  Gridley,  a  gen 
tleman  celebrated  for  his  knowledge  of  Indian  history  and 
habits. 

NOTE  5. 

Amid  the  seven  fair  lakes  that  lie 
Like  mirrors  'neath  the  summer  sky.     P.  23. 
There  are  seven  beautiful  lakes  in  the  western  part  of 
the  State  of  New  York,  varying  from  ten  to  forty  miles  in 
length,  all  of  which  discharge  their  waters  into  the  Ontario 
through  the  Oswego  River;  to  wit,  the  Cayuga,  Seneca, 
Canandaigua,   Owasco,   Otisco,  Skaneateles,   and  Crooked 
Lake. 

NOTE  6. 

What  time  the  Lion  holds  the  sun.    P.  23. 
The  months  of  July  and  August  are  supposed  to  have 
been  peculiarly  favorable  for  the  chase,  as  well  as  for  pisca- 


NOTES.  89 

tory  sports,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Seven  Lakes.    It  con 
tinues  to  be  a  favorable  season  for  the  latter  amusement. 

NOTE  7. 

By  night  the  glittering  stars  above, 
By  day  the  humble  moss  below.  P.  25. 
"  The  polar  star  has  been  very  generally  noticed  by  the 
Indians,  as  '  the  star  that  never  moves ; '  and  this,  when 
visible,  is  always  their  travelling  guide  in  the  night  time. 
In  cloudy  weather,  whether  by  day  or  night,  they  have 
astonishingly  sure  and  speedy  modes  of  ascertaining  direc 
tions  and  djstances.  They  will  travel  a  line  to  almost  any 
given  point  of  the  compass,  for  any  given  time,  by  observ 
ing,  as  they  run,  the  difference  in  the  moss,  or  in  the  thick 
ness  of  the  bark  on  the  northern  and  southern  sides  of  the 
trees,  together  with  various  other  minute  circumstances, 
which  a  white  man  would  scarcely  notice  if  pointed  out  to 
him.  Well  may  they  say,  as  they  sometimes  do  to  white 
men,  '  How  can  we  go  wrong,  when  we  know  where  we  are 
going  tot"'  —  Thatcher. 

NOTE  8. 

Owosco's  waters  sweetly  slept.  P.  29. 
The  ancient  trail  of  the  Iroquois,  from  the  Mohawk  west 
ward,  led  past  the  northern  extremity  of  this  lake,  and 
crossed  the  outlet  somewhere  within  the  bounds  of  the 
present  city  of  Auburn.  The  author  is  under  obligation 
for  this  piece  of  information,  to  the  same  gentleman  re 
ferred  to  in  Note  4,  who  was  personally  and  familiarly 
acquainted  with  many  of  the  head  men  of  the  Five  Nations. 

8* 


90  NOTES. 

An  aged  Indian  by  the  name  of  Antonie,  who  was  second 
chief  of  the  Oneidas,  under  the  celebrated  Skenandoah, 
informed  him  of  this  fact  ;  and  said  that  one  of  their  cus 
tomary  camping  grounds  was  near  a  large  elm-tree,  which 
is  still  standing  in  the  highway  on  the  eastern  line  of  the 
city  above  named.  Their  trail  westward  from  Auburn 
must  have  pursued  pretty  nearly  the  course  of  the  present 
Seneca  turnpike,  as  it  led  over  Cayuga  Lake  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  present  bridge,  where  they  kept  canoes,  or  ferry 
boats,  constantly,  for  the  accommodation  of  any  of  their 
people. 

This  was  at  a  later  day  than  the  one  referred  to  in  the 
text,  and  at  a  time  when  the  Iroquois  were  undisputed  sov 
ereigns  of  the  country. 

XOTE  9. 

A  single  oar  that  boat  propelled.     P.  31. 
The  Indian  canoes  are  sometimes  made  very  small  and 
slight,  and  capable  of  being  propelled  with  extreme  rapidity, 
by  means  of  a  single  oar,  or  scull,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed, 
which  is  placed  in  the  stern. 


10. 

With  all  a  NarraylianseW  s  pride.  P.  31. 
This  is  not  the  common,  but  is,  I  believe,  the  most  cor 
rect  orthography  of  this  name.  I  follow  Mr.  Thatcher.  The 
ISTarraghansetts  were  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  the 
New  England  nations,  and  were  a  remarkably  brave  and 
high-spirited  people.  "They  were,"  says  Mr.  Thatcher, 
"  composed  of  various  small  tribes,  inhabiting  a  large  part 


NOTES.  91 

of  the  territory  which  afterwards  formed  the  colony  of 
Rhode  Island.  Their  dominion  extended  also  over  the 
islands  in  the  bay  of  their  own  name." 

NOTE  11. 
The  broidered  moccasins  that  gave 

A  grace  to  his  converging  feet.  P.  31. 
The  habit  of  walking  with  the  toes  inclining  inward,  if 
not  universally  prevalent  among  the  aborigines,  is  at  least 
so  far  so  as  to  render  it  a  national  peculiarity.  Whether  or 
not  it  is  owing  to  any  peculiar  conformation  of  that  part  of 
the  anatomical  system,  I  am  not  able  to  say.  I  should 
suspect  it  to  be  a  mere  matter  of  custom,  and  practised  at 
the  expense  of  convenience,  taste,  and  nature,  for  fashion's 
sake  alone,  were  it  not  that  the  savages  could  hardly  be 
supposed,  at  so  early  a  day,  to  have  exhibited  such  strong 
indications  of  an  approach  to  civilization. 

NOTE  12. 

Huron  nor  Ottawa  h'ls  race.    P.  32. 

The  Hurons  and  Ottawas  were  the  savages  who  enacted 
the  dreadful  tragedy  at  Schenectacly.  They  were,  of  course, 
friendly  to  the  French  Government ;  and  it  was  by  such 
fearful  means  as  the  destruction  of  English  settlements, 
and  the  massacre  of  their  inhabitants,  that  the  French 
provincial  government  sought  to  awe  the  Iroquois,  and 
bring  them  over  to  their  own  interests.  The  Iroquois,  as 
long  as  they  remained  friendly  to  the  English,  were  a  com 
plete  barrier  to  the  progress  of  the  French  arms ;  and  it  was 
supposed  that  they  would  change  their  allegiance  (or  rather 


92  NOTES. 

their  alliance,  for  they  disclaimed  being  subjects  of  any 
crown)  when  they  saw  that  the  English  settlements  were 
unable  to  protect  themselves.  Vide  Dunlap's  N.Y. 

NOTE  13. 
The  five  fierce  nations  of  the  North.    P.  32. 

The  Five  Nations,  so  called  by  the  English,  were  the  Mo 
hawks,  Oneidas,  Cayugas,  Onondagas,  and  Senecas. 
Gov.  Clinton,  in  a  discourse  delivered  before  the  New 
York  Historical  Society  in  1811,  says,  "  The  Virginian 
Indians  gave  them  the  name  of  Massawomekes ;  the  Dutch 
called  them  Maquas,  or  Makakuase;  and  the  French, 
Iroquois.  Their  appellation  at  home  was  the  Mingoes,  and 
sometimes  the  Aganuschian  or  United  People." 

By  those  whose  knowledge  of  the  aborigines  is  mainly 
derived  from  works  of  fiction,  they  will  be  best  recollected 
as  the  Mingoes,  who  were  the  objects  of  such  continual 
hatred  and  detestation  to  Mr.  Cooper's  Leather-stocking. 
It  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise  that  the  Delawares,  of  whom 
Leather-stocking  was  an  ally,  should  have  hated  the  Iro 
quois.  They  were  to  the  Five  Nations  what  the  sand  is  to 
the  whirlwind. 

Gov.  Clinton,  in  an  address  delivered  at  Schenectady 
in  1823,  before  the  New  York  Alpha  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society,  says,  "The  alluvial  lands  of  the  river,  rich  as  the 
soil  formed  by  the  overflowings  of  the  Nile,  were  the  prin 
cipal  residence  of  that  ferocious  and  martial  race,  the  true 
old  heads  of  the  Iroquois,  a  confederacy  which  carried 
terror,  havoc,  and  desolation  from  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  which  aspired  to  universal  empire 
over  the  savage  nations." 


NOTES.  93 

It  is  presumed  that  Gov.  Clinton  alludes  here  to  the 
Mohawk  tribe  only,  as  "  that  ferocious  and  martial  race, 
the  true  old  heads  of  the  Iroquois." 

While  on  the  subject  of  this  interesting  people,  it  may  not 
be  amiss  to  quote  the  following,  from  another  distinguished 
source,  — the  late  Dr.  Samuel  L.  Mitchell, who  in  a  discourse 
before  the  same  society  last  named,  in  1821,  says,  "  The  place 
upon  which  this  city  (Schenectady)  stands  furnishes  an  ample 
theme  for  contemplation.  Here,  and  in  the  region  situated 
to  the  westward,  lived  the  once  formidable  confederacy  of 
the  Iroquois,  of  whom  the  Mohawks  were  the  most  distin 
guished.  They  appear  to  have  descended  from  the  Tartars 
of  Asia,  and,  by  gradual  approaches  from  the  shores  of 
Alaska,  to  have  reached  the  country  situated  south  of  the 
Great  Lakes.  They  brought  the  complexion,  features,  and 
manners  of  their  ancestors,  and  even  their  dogs  are  of  the 
Siberian  breed.  They  are  called  Indians,  either  because 
they  resembled  the  inhabitants  of  India,  or  because  they 
were  supposed  to  have  descended  from  India. 

"  Between  these  ferocious  hordes  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
white  settlers  on  the  other,  the  unfortunate  Delawares,  who 
were  probably  tinctured  with  Malay  blood,  were  beaten  as 
metal  between  the  anvil  and  hammer,  or  broken  to  pieces 
after  the  manner  of  grain  betwixt  the  millstones. 

"  Yd;  in  this  very  spot,  where  barbarous  and  even  canni 
bal  rites  have  been  performed,  Schenectady  soon  arose,  and 
in  less  than  two  centuries  has  grown  to  its  present  popu 
lation  and  wealth.  Schenecladea,  or  the  pine-wood  landing ; 
Cohokcsackic,  or  the  land  of  owls ;  Senagahat,  or  the  stingy 
road;  Canajoharie,  or  the  place  where  the  water  of  the 


94  NOTES. 

creek  whirls  like  the  simmering  of  a  caldron  over  the  fire ; 
Eahohalatea,  the  river  since  called  Hudson ;  Tioyhdaronde, 
the  place  where  rivers  or  streams  empty  into  others ;  and 
Canneoglononitade,  the  river  that  glides  along  toward  its 
precipice  at  the  Cohos,  —  are  a  few  of  the  appellations 
that  remain." 

According  to  the  late  learned  Mr.  Thatcher,  whose  inves 
tigations  and  laborious  researches  into  Indian  history  ought 
to  secure  to  him  the  gratitude  of  the  public,  since  he 
is  now  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  their  reward  in  any 
other  shape,  "  Their  career  of  victory,  which  began  with 
the  fall  of  the  Adirondacks,  was  destined  to  be  extended 
beyond  all  precedent  in  the  history  of  the  Indian  tribes. 
They  exterminated  the  Eries,  or  Erigas,  once  living  on  the 
south  side  of  the  lake  of  their  own  name.  They  nearly 
destroyed  the  powerful  Anderstes  and  the  Chouanons  or 
Showanons.  They  drove  back  the  Hurons  and  Ottawas 
among  the  Sioux  of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  where  they 
separated  themselves  into  bands,  "proclaiming,  wherever 
they  went,  the  terror  of  the  Iroquois."  The  Illinois  on  the 
west  also  were  subdued,  with  the  Miamics  and  the  Shawa- 
nese.  The  Xiperceneans  of  the  St.  Lawrence  fled  to  Hud 
son's  Bay  to  avoid  their  fury".  "  The  borders  of  the 
Ontaonis,"  says  an  historian,  "  which  were  long  thickly 
peopled,  became  almost  deserted."  The  Mohawk* was  a 
name  of  terror  to  the  farthest  tribes  of  New  England ;  and 
though  but  one  of  that  formidable  people  should  appear 
for  a  moment  on  the  hills  of  the  Connecticut  or  Massa 
chusetts,  the  villages  below  would  be  in  an  uproar  of 
confusion  and  fear.  Finally,  they  conquered  the  tribe  of 


NOTES.  95 

Virginia  west  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  warred  against  the 
Catawbas,  Cherokees,  and  most  of  the  nations  of  the  South. 
These  tribes,  of  course,  had  no  part  in  the  massacre  at 
Schenectady.  Says  Gov.  Clinton,  "  The  sympathizing 
and  pathetic  speech  of  the  faithful  Mohawks,  on  that 
melancholy  occasion,  may  be  ranked  among  the  most 
splendid  effusions  of  oratory." 

NOTE  14. 

Could  imitate  their  scalp-halloo.  P.  35. 
"For  every  scalp,  and  for  every  prisoner  taken,  the 
scalp-yell,  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  the  death-halloo,  was 
raised  in  all  its  mingled  tones  of  triumph  and  terror.  The 
scalp-yell  is  the  most  terrific  note  which  an  Indian  can  raise ; 
and,  from  the  numbers  that  had  fallen  during  this  expedi 
tion,  it  was  often  repeated."  —  Col.  Stone's  Life  of  Brandt, 
vol.  i.  p.  388. 

NOTE  15. 

And  chant  the  warrior's  dirge.  P.  35. 
The  death-song  of  the  warrior  is  common,  I  believe,  to 
all  the  North-American  tribes  of  Indians,  and,  like  the 
fabled  song  of  the  swan,  it  is  believed  to  be  not  only  the  last, 
but  the  first  display  of  their  musical  powers.  It  consists 
generally  of  an  improvised  recitative  of  their  own  acts  of 
valor,  and,  if  at  the  stake,  mingled  with  taunts  of  cowardice 
upon  their  captors,  which,  craft  and  subtlety  to  the  last,  is 
doubtless  designed  to  provoke  a  more  speedy  termination  of 
their  sufferings.  The  following  from  Mr.  Cooper's  "  Last  of 
the  Mohicans"  will  be  recollected  as  the  language  of  Chin- 


96  NOTES. 

gachgook  and  his  son  Uncas,  two  Delaware  chiefs,  when,  as 
they  supposed,  about  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Hurons 
at  Glenn's  Cataract.  The  taunt  of  Uncas  is  in  allusion  to 
one  of  the  Huron  warriors  who  had  taken  his  station  in  the 
upper  branches  of  a  tree,  to  shoot  from  thence  upon  their 
encampment,  and  who  had  beer;  dislodged  by  one  of  their 
rifles,  and  dropped  dead  into  the  river.  "  Chinyachyook.  — 
'Let  the  Mingo  women  go  weep  over  their  slain!  The 
great  snake  of  the  Mohicans  has  coiled  himself  in  their  wig 
wam,  and  has  poisoned  their  triumph  with  the  wailings  of 
children  whose  fathers  have  not  returned.  Eleven  warriors 
lie  hid  far  from  the  graves  of  their  tribes  since  the  snows 
have  melted ;  and  none  will  tell  where  to  find  them  when 
the  tongue  of  Chingachgook  shall  be  silent.  Let  them 
draw  the  sharpest  knife,  and  whirl  the  swiftest  tomahawk, 
for  their  bitterest  enemy  is  in  their  hands.  Uncas,  my 
boy,  topmost  branch  of  a  noble  trunk,  call  on  the  cowards 
to  hasten,  or  their  hearts  will  soften,  and  they  will  change 
to  women!' 

"  '  They  look  among  the  fish  for  their  dead!'  returned 
the  low,  soft  voice  of  the  youthful  chieftain.  '  The 
Hurons  float  with  the  slimy  eels ;  they  drop  from  the  oak 
like  fruit  that  is  ready  to  be  eaten  :  and  the  Delawares 
laugh." 

Charlevoix  relates  that  an  Indian  of  the  Ottogami,  or 
Fox  tribe,  was  tortured  by  the  Illinois.  After  loading 
them  with  all  the  insults  he  could  think  of,  he  looked 
round,  and  saw  among  their  number  a  Frenchman  from 
Canada,  whom  he  knew.  He  called  out  to  him  to  "  assist 
the  Illinois  in  tormenting  him."  —  "  And  wliy  should  I  assist 


NOTES.  97 

them?"  cried  the  Frenchman.  "  That  I  may  have  the  com 
fort  of  dying  by  the  hands  of  a  MAN,"  said  the  prisoner; 
"my  greatest  grief  is  that  I  never  killed  a  MAN."  Here  an 
Illinois  interrupted  him,  and  said  that  he  had  killed  such 
and  such  persons,  naming  several  of  the  Illinois  tribe. 
" Ha,  ha!  The  Illinois,  indeed /"  said  the  captive  with  an 
air  of  contemptuous  defiance.  "  The  Illinois  !  I  have  killed 
enough  of  them  truly,  but  I  have  never  killed  a  MAN  !  "  His 
enraged  foes  probably  soon  paid  him  for  this  speech,  as 
he  expected  and  hoped,  with  a  death-blow.  —  Thatcher's 
Indian  Trails,  vol.  ii.  p.  30. 

NOTE  16. 

If  she  were  not,  he  little  recks 
How  soon  his  head  the  death-cap  decks.    P.  36. 
Col.  Stone,  in  describing  a  dance  of  thanksgiving  of  the 
Iroquois  at  Kanadeseaga,  in  1778,  after  the  massacre  at  the 
village  of  Cherry  Valley,  as  witnessed  by  Mrs.  Campbell, 
one  of  their  prisoners,  says,  "There  was  no  prisoner  put  to 
the  torture,   or  attired  with  the  raven  death-cap  on  this 
occasion ;  but  the  prisoners  were  paraded,  and  the  scalps 
borne  in  procession,  as  would  have  been  the  standards  taken 
in  civilized  warfare  in  the  celebration  of  a  triumph.  '\ 

I  have  not  been  able,  on  investigation,  to  find  any  further 
authority  for  this  matter  of  the  "  raven  death-cap,"  and  am 
inclined  to  suspect  it  a  mere  embellishment  of  the  imagina 
tion  on  the  part  of  the  biographist  of  Thayendanegea. 
9 


98  NOTES. 

NOTE  17. 

As  far  beyond  the  tribes  that  stay 
Near  the  great  cataract's  ceaseless  spray.    P.  40. 
"  The  Eries,  or  Erigas,  lived  on  the  south  side  of  the  lake 
which  now  bears  their  name."  —  Thatcher. 

NOTE  18. 

WJiere  on  a  shell-strewn  island  stands 
A  bell  not  made  by  mortal  hands.    P.  40. 
"  There  is  a  rock  situated  on  an  island  in  Lake  Huron, 
which,   on  being  struck,   rings  like   a  church-bell.      The 
French  named  the  island  La  Cloche."  —  Thatcher. 

NOTE  19. 

Niperceans  they,  —  a  race,  he  said, 
Of  whom  himself,  the  honored  head, 
Was  known  afar  by  friend  and  foe, 
The  firm  and  fearless  Ivanough.     P.  40. 
Thatcher  spells  the  name  of  this  tribe  Xiperceneans ;  but 
it  is  so  difficult  to  say  when  one  has  arrived  at  the  correct 
orthography  of  an  Indian  name,  that  it  may  be  excusable 
to  occasionally  drop  a  supernumerary  letter  or  syllable  for 
the  sake  of  melody. 

lyanough  was  the  name  "of  "the  courteous  sachem  of 
Cummaquid,"  who  is  described  as  "not  exceeding  twenty- 
six  years  of  age,  very  personable,  gentle,  courteous,  fair 
conditioned,  and,  indeed,  not  like  a  savage,  save  for  his 
attire."  —  Journal  of  a  Plantation. 


NOTES.  99 

NOTE  20. 

Before  the  Iroquois  we  fled.    P.  40. ' 

The  story  here  related  by  the  pretended  sachem  is  matter 
of  history.  The  Niperceneaus  formerly  lived  on  the  bor 
ders  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  were  driven  thence  by  the 
Five  Nations.  How  Ensenore  became  cognizant  of  the 
fact,  may  be  something  of  a  question,  but  one  which  it 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  examine  here. 

NOTE  21. 

Four  chosen  warriors  with  1dm  went, 

All  trebly  armed.    P.  43 

Mr.  Thatcher  relates  the  following  anecdote  of  a  chief 
of  the  Adirondacks,  as  taking  place  at  a  time  when  that 
tribe  had  become  nearly  exterminated  by  the  Iroquois: 
"He  and  his  four  comrades  solemnly  devoted  themselves 
to  the  purpose  of  redeeming  the  sullied  glory  of  the  nation, 
at  a  period  when  the  prospect  of  conquest,  and  perhaps  of 
defence,  had  already  become  desperate.  They  set  out  for 
Trois  Rivieres  in  one  canoe ;  each  of  them  being  provided 
with  three  muskets,  which  they  loaded  severally  with  two 
bullets  connected  by  a  small  chain  ten  inches  in  length. 
In  Sorel  River  they  met  with  five  boats  of  the  Iroquois, 
each  having  on  board  ten  men.  As  the  parties  rapidly 
came  together,  the  Adirondacks  pretended  to  give  them 
selves  up  for  lost,  and  began  howling  the  death-song.  This 
was  continued  till  their  enemy  was  just  at  hand.  They 
then  suddenly  ceased  singing,  and  fired  simultaneously  on 
the  five  canoes.  The  charge  was  repeated  with  the  arms 


100  NOTES. 

which  lay  ready  loaded,  and  the  slight  birches  of  the  Iro- 
quois  were  torn  asunder,  and  the  frightened  occupants 
tumbled  overboard  as  fast  as  possible.  Piskaret  and  his 
comrades,  after  knocking  as  many  of  them  on  the  head  as 
they  pleased,  reserved  the  remainder  to  feed  their  revenge, 
which  was  soon  afterwards  done  by  burning  them  alive  in 
the  most  cruel  tortures." 

The  author  supposes  Mr.  Thatcher  may  have  been  mis 
taken  in  the  name  and  tribe  of  the  chief  who  performed 
this  exploit,  and  that  to  Eagle-Eye  of  the  Hurons  the  credit 
in  fact  belongs.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  seems,  by  the  text, 
to  have  been  some  heroic  act  performed  by  the  Huron, 
similar,  at  least,  as  far  as  regards  the  number  of  his  coad 
jutors. 

NOTE  22. 

Their  moccasins  reversed.    P.  43. 

"Accustomed,  as  an  Indian  must  be,  to  all  emergencies 
of  travelling,  as  well  as  warfare,  he  took  the  precaution  of 
putting  the  hinder  part  of  his  snow-shoes  forward,  so  that, 
if  his  footsteps  should  happen  to  be  observed  by  his  vigilant 
enemy,  it  might  be  supposed  he  was  going  the  contrary 
way."  —  Thatcher. 

NOTE  23. 

To  which  the  maddening  boicl  gave  birth.    P.  53. 
That  the  infuriating  "fire-water"  was  introduced  among 
those  tribes  of  Indians  who  were  in  alliance  with  the  Euro 
peans  at  a  still  earlier  day  than  the  one  referred  to  in  the 
text,  appears  by  a  speech  of  the  celebrated  chief  Garan- 


NOTES.  101 

gula  to  M.  De  Labare,  governor  of  Upper  Canada,  in  1684 ; 
in  which  he  speaks  of  the  "  Jesuits  who  break  all  the  kegs 
of  rum  brought  to  our  castles,  lest  the  drunken  Indians 
should  knock  them  on  the  head." 

NOTE  24. 

And  round  his  lengthened  locks  of  jet.  P.  56. 
The  hair  of  the  American  savages,  says  Thatcher,  still 
more  decidedly  than  their  color,  distinguishes  them  from 
all  other  people.  It  is  uniformly,  in  each  of  the  sexes, 
black,  until  changed  by  age.  It  is  often  described,  also,  as 
lank,  and  hanging  in  knots. 

NOTE  25. 

Upon  the  unknown  brave.    P.  57. 

A  brave  is  a  warrior  distinguished  for  his  prowess.  The 
title,  I  believe,  involves  no  other  rank.  I  suppose  the  term 
to  be  of  modern  use  only  among  the  natives,  and  to  be 
borrowed  from  the  English  adjective. 

NOTE  26. 

.4s  doubtless  holding  some  strange  charm, 
Potent,  perhaps,  to  work  such  harm.    P.  60. 
The  savages  believe  in  charms  and  spells,  but,  in  their 
unlettered  state,  have  not  the  most  remote  conception  of 
the  nature  of  written  communication,  unless  through  the 
medium  of  pictures  and  symbols. 

NOTE  27. 

One  powerful  arm  Jiis  boat  propelled.    P.  78. 
See  Note  10. 
9* 


THE 


KNIGHT  OF  ST.  JAGO. 


JUAN  BELLAIRE; 

Or,    The    Knight    of   St.    Jago. 
AN  HISTORICAL  POEM. 


I. 

WHO  seeks  for  Nature's  changeless  smile 
Must  seek  it  in  the  central  isle 
Of  that  fair  group  which  lies  afar 
In  beauty,  'neath  the  southern  star,  — 
That  isle  upon  whose  verdant  shore,  . 
Three  centuries  agone,  and  more, 
O'erlooking  far  both  field  and  flood, 
The  New  World's  first  emporium  stood. 

II. 

If  in  tradition's  cloudy  land 
The  Muse  may  be  allowed  to  stand, 
Recall  its  shadowy  forms  to-day, 
And,  much  presuming,  seek  to  stay 

105 


106  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

With  daring  hand  the  threatened  fall 
Of  drear  oblivion's  ebon  pall, 
Here  shall  she  weave,  in  idle  rhyme, 
A  legend  of  that  fair}'  clinie,  — 
A  checkered  tale  of  human  life, 
Of  joys  and  woes  and  passion's  strife, 
Of  gentle  hearts  and  spirits  bold, 
On  history's  faithless  page  untold. 

III. 

Of  old  the  vaunted  flag  of  Spain, 
Though  sullied  oft  with  crimson  stain, 
Assumed  alliance  with  the  cross, 
That  faith  which  holds  all  wealth  as  dross  ; 
And,  'neath  that  sacred  sign  enrolled, 
Her  sordid  subjects  fought  for  gold. 
Yet  not  all  mockery  was  the  claim 
Of  conquest  in  Messiah's  name  : 
Where  Mars  and  Mammon  had  unfurled 
Their  banners  to  the  western  world, 
Some  faithful  souls  were  sent  to  tell 
(Thanks  to  the  pious  Isabel !) 
Of  their  eternal  weal  made  sure, 
Who  here  believe,  obey,  endure, 
And  for  the  heathen  world  to  ope 
The  fountains  of  perennial  hope. 

*  A  part  of  this  stanza  is  borrowed  from  the  preceding  poem. 


JUAN    BELLATRE.  107 

All  blind  to  gold  and  deaf  to  fame, 
A  small  but  holy  band  they  came 
O'er  unknown  seas,  'noath  unknown  sky, 
Bearing  their  heaven-lit  torches  high, 
Gilding  the  gloom  which  densely  lay 
As  Zebulon's  of  ancient  day. 

IV. 

Of  these  ANSELMO  ranked  alone : 
His  life  one  blaze  of  virtue  shone. 
His  equal  mind,  calm,  fixed,  and  pure, 
Force  could  not  fright,  nor  pleasure  lure  ; 
Oppression  found  in  him  a  foe  ; 
A  friend,  the  suffering  sons  of  woe  ; 
And  the  vice-regal  court  in  vain 
Sought  his  connivance  to  obtain, 
While  ruling  with  an  iron  rod 
That  beauteous  heritage  of  God. 

V. 

Beside  ANSELMO 's  humble  home 

A  stranger  oft  was  seen  to  roam, 

Of  gentle  mien,  and  saddened  air,  — 

A  victim  of  corroding  care. 

The  simple  natives  of  the  isle 

Called  him  "  the  man  without  a  smile." 


108  JUAN  BELLAIRE. 

Though  whispered  rumors  spoke  his  fame, 
None  knew  his  history  or  his  name,  — 
A  name  on  battle-fields  once  known, 
Familiar  as  the  trumpet's  tone,  — 
JUAN  BELLAIRE,  the  brave  and  j-oung, 
In  many  a  minstrel's  carol  sung  ; 
JUAN  BELLAIRE,  still  young  and  brave. 
"Without  a  hope  this  side  the  grave. 

VI. 

Him,  friendless,  did  ANSELMO  seek,  — 
ANSELMO,  like  his  Master  meek, 
Glad  to  administer  relief 
To  even*  grade  and  hue  of  grief. 
Each  soon  the  other's  heart  had  won 
With  love  like  that  of  sire  and  son ; 
Nor  long  to  such  a  friend  and  guide 
The  knight  his  secret  thoughts  denied. 
'Twas  eve,  and,  with  departing  day, 
The  town's  dull  hum  had  died  away ; 
The  sky,  with  rosy  clouds  o'ercast, 
Told  where  the  setting  sun  had  past ; 
And,  fresh  from  flowery  fields,  the  breeze 
Was  rustling  through  the  acacia-trees,  — 
When,  in  a  cool  sequestered  grot 
Beside  ANSELMO'S  rustic  cot, 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  109 

BELLAIRE  his  promised  tale  began  ; 
And  thus,  in  brief,  the  story  ran  :  — 

VII. 

SIR   JUAN'S   TALE. 

Of  this  fair  isle,  well  known  to  fame, 

Which  bears  our  native  country's  name,* 

And,  with  its  sisters  of  the  sea, 

Owns  that  dear  land's  supremacy, 

Thou  knowest ;  nor  does  it  need  to  tell 

Of  him  whose  fame  thou  knowest  as  well,  — 

Whom  this  New  World  was  proud  to  own 

Vicegerent  of  the  Spanish  throne  ; 

For  who  that  boasts  Castilian  birth 

Knows  not  of  DON  GONSALVO'S  worth? 

Good  cause  have  I  to  speak  his  praise : 

The  patron  of  my  earliest  days, 

And  at  whose  side,  in  valor  nursed, 

I  proved  my  maiden  armor  first, 

Against  the  turbaned  infidel, 

Where  cross  and  crescent  rose  and  fell 

O'er  many  a  field  and  fortress  strong, 
And  where,  among  the  knights  who  bore 
Their  banners  to  that  bloody  war, 

*  Hispaniola,  afterwards  called  St.  Domingo  and  Hayti. 
10 


110  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Fierce,  obstinate,  and  long, 
B}'  which  GRANADA'S  gorgeous  lands 
We're  rescued  from  barbaric  hands, 
The  DON  GONSALVO  ranked  alone,  — 
A  terror  to  the  Moorish  .throne, 
And  chiefest  bulwark  of  our  own. 

VIII. 

The  gracious  sovereign  of  Castile 
Rewarded  well  his  subject's  zeal ; 
And  seldom  state  has  power,  I  trow, 
Such  royal  guerdon  to  bestow. 
This  island  realm  were  ample  meed 
For  firmest  faith  and  boldest  deed  : 
Its  seas  are  calm,  its  skies  are  clear, 
Summer  and  spring  compose  its  year  ; 
And  its  rich  depths  of  sea  and  soil 
Alike  repa}*  the  delver's  toil,  — 
This  with  exhaustless  stores  of  gold, 
And  that  with  priceless  pearls  untold. 

IX. 

But  when,  to  cross  this  western  main, 
GONSALVO  left  the  shores  of  Spain, 
A  jewel  thence  he  brought  more  fair 
Than  all  the  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  Ill 

More  precious  than  the  isle  he  sought 
Although  of  beaten  gold  'twere  wrought, 
And  strewn  with  gems  as  thickl}7  o'er 
As  ever  pebbles  strewed  the  shore. 
I  need  not  say  'twas  mortal  maid, 
Who  thus  the  wealth  of  worlds  outweighed  ; 
Fairer  than  fancy's  brightest  dream, 
(Thou'lt  strangely  of  the  story  deem), 
Yet  mine  her  heart,  if  love  as  true 
As  ever  mortal  bosom  knew, 
Plighted  'neath  Andalusian  sky, 
Could  form  a  title  or  a  tie. 

X. 

But  how  shall  I  with  words  essay 

Thj?  charms,  sweet  INEZ,  to  portray? 

Such  form  of  fairy  loveliness 

As  deigns  sometimes  our  dreams  to  bless, 

Then  skyward,  from  our  dazzled  sight, 

Floats  like  a  cloud  of  silver  light ; 

An  azure  eye  that  seemed  akin 

To  the  untainted  soul  within, 

And  cast  across  her  radiant  face 

A  mingled  intellect  and  grace  ; 

A  voice,  which,  like  a  spirit  call, 

Held  the  enraptured  ear  in  thrall,  — 


112  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

All  these  were  hers,  though  limnings  faint 
Of  one  whom  language  may  not  paint. 

XI. 

•Say  not  earth  has  no  perfect  joy : 
Ours  was  a  bliss  without  alloy. 
No  ban  paternal  checked  our  love, 
No  adverse  fate  against  us  strove  ; 
And,  o'er  the  future's  shrouded  night, 
Hope  flung  a  long,  long  track  of  light. 
GONSALVO  knew  his  daughter's  worth, 
And,  from  the  period  of  her  birth, 
(For  which  a  fond,  devoted  wife 
Had  paid  the  forfeit  of  her  life) , 
No  other  tie  his  heart  had  known  : 
Her  had  he  loved,  and  her  alone. 


Each  epoch  of  her  life  had  brought 
To  him  new  stores  of  happy  thought : 
When  feebly  first  she  strove  to  frame, 
With  faltering  lips,  a  father's  name  ; 
When  next  she  ran,  with  tottering  feet, 
And  outstretched  arms,  her  sire  to  meet ; 
And  when  in  girlhood's  joyous  hour, 
Her  harp  was  heard  in  hall  and  bower, 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  113 

» 

Or,  'mid  the  many-hued  parterre 
(Its  fairest  flowers  eclipsed  by  her) , 
She  trimmed  the  fragrant  eglantine, 
Or  taught  the  jasmine  where  to  twine, 
Or  decked  with  wreaths  her  loved  gazelle, 
While  o'er  its  neck  her  ringlets  fell,  — 
He  felt  within  his  bosom  ope 
New  founts  of  happiness  and  hope, 
And  felt  how  futile  were  renown 
His  closing  days  with  joy  to  crown, 
Unless  he  saw  the  bliss  secure 
Of  one  so  perfect  and  so  pure. 

XIII. 

What  lineage  mine,  or  what  degree 
Of  fame  in  ranks  of  chivalry  ; 
Of  her,  whom  noblest  sons  of  Spain 
And  bravest  knights  had  sought  in  vain, 
How  little  worthy,  or  how  well, 
It  fits  not  me,  perhaps,  to  tell. 
Some  meed  of  valor  I  had  won, 
Perhaps  some  deeds  of  daring  done, 
And  borne  me  well  with  steed  and  spear 
As  one  but  little  used  to  fear  ; 
But  since  allowed  her  name  to  bear, 
Her  gage  in  battle-field  to  wear, 
10* 


114  JUAN   BELLAIBE. 

Such  fear  as  good  ST.  MICHAEL  knew 
When  o'er  heaven's  battlements  he  drew 

The  sword  of  wrath  divine, 
And  hurled  his  Maker's  haughty  foe 
Down  to  the  burning  fields  below,  — 

Such  fear  has  since  been  mine  ! 

XIV. 

I  said  the  skies  of  hope  were  bright ; 

But,  like  the  skies  o'er  CarmePs  height, 

What  time  the  prophet  knelt  in  prayer, 

A  speck-like  cloud  was  rising  thei'e, 

Doomed  to  forestall  the  swiftest  flight, 

And  wrap  the  firmament  in  night. 

While  thousands  sought,  in  fortune's  quest, 

This  famed  Dorado  of  the  west, 

Till  these  far  islands  of  the  sea 

Had  thinned  the  ranks  of  chivalry, 

And  old  Castile  could  scarcely  boast 

Enough  of  knights  for  tilting  joust, — 

I  need  not  say  what  secret  charm 

Had  stayed  my  lance,  or  checked  my  arm. 

XV. 

In  vain  perpetual  spring  would  smile 
Across  each  green  and  flowery  isle, 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  115 

And  vainly  would  the  acacia-trees 

With  fragrance  freight  each  passing  breeze  ; 

Eden  itself  were  barren  spot, 

If  there,  dear. INEZ,  thou  wert  not. 

But  now,  when  'neath  auspicious  fate, 

And  vested  with  vice-regal  state, 

GONSALVO  with  a  gallant  train 

Prepared  to  cross  the  western  main, 

And  her  to  bear,  the  smile  of  whom 

Would  fortune's  darkest  skies  illume,  — 

The  thought  was  rapture's  thrill  to  me, 

My  heart  stood  still  with  ecstasy. 

XVI. 

Six  ships  composed  GOXSALVO'S  fleet, 

Their  stores  were  in,  —  their  crews  complete  ; 

But,  while  we  lingered  at  Seville 

For  favoring  breeze  our  sails  to  fill, 

Came  tidings  of  the  king's  command, 

That  I  should  join  a  valiant  band 

Prepared  by  deeds  of  high  emprise 

Before  our  gracious  sovereign's  eyes, 

The  Queen  of  Beauty,  and  her  train 

And  knights  and  nobles  of  the  reign, 

To  prove  our  prowess  on  the  Moor, 

And  make  our  vaunted  valor  sure. 


116  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Such  challenge  to  the  tournament 
Granada's  vanquished  knights  had  sent.2 

XVII. 

Who  slights  such  honors  of  the  crown 
Thenceforth  would  vainly  seek  renown  ; 
The  lists  were  for  a  distant  day, 
Not  one  the  read}T  fleet  could  stay ; 
And  with  that  sun's  declining  light 
Vanished  its  lessening  sails  from  sight, 
Vanished  the  angel  from  my  side,  — 
INEZ  m}*  love,  my  plighted  bride, 
"While,  wakened  from  my  blissful  dream, 
I  wept  by  Guadalquivir's  stream. 

\ 

XVIII. 

But  sadly  for  my  forced  delay 
Did  one  dark  knight  of  Islam  pay, 
When  came  at  last  the  trial  day : 
Thrice  were  our  equal  charges  foiled  ; 
Thrice  from  the  shock  our  steeds  recoiled  ; 
But  when,  with  concentrated  force, 
Again  we  dashed  along  the  course, 
The  Moslem  rolled  upon  the  plain, 
Ne'er  to  set  lance  in  rest  again. 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  117 

I  meant  it  not :  I  mourned  it  well,  — 
The  death  of  that  brave  infidel. 

XIX. 

I  might  with  much  detail  repeat 
Each  bold  exploit  and  skilful  feat, 
Which  during  those  eventful  days 
Won  for  each  band  deserving  praise,  — 
The  final  issue  of  the  test, 
As  by  our  heathen  foes  confessed, 
My  transient  triumph  when  I  knelt, 
And  on  my  burning  temples  felt 
The  wreath  by  beauty  planted  there, 
While  lengthened  plaudits  shook  the  air ; 
But  sadder  themes,  alas  !   are  mine : 

I  bow  not  now  at  glory's  shrine. 

H 

XX. 

Twelve  months  elapsed  of  doubt  and  pain : 
At  last  a  venturous  bark  again, 
With  white  wings  open  to  the  breeze, 
Sought  the  far  west's  uncharted  seas  ; 
I  trod  its  deck  with  heart  elate, 
But,  mindful  of  my  former  fate, 
Trembling  beheld  the  capstan  wind, 
Unsafe  till  Spain  was  left  behind. 


118  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Ne'er  did  returning  exile  gaze 

With  tear-dimmed  eyes,  through  mist  and  haze, 

More  glad  to  catch  the  first  faint  view 

Of  the  loved  land  his  boyhood  knew, 

Than  I,  from  weary  bondage  freed, 

To  see  my  native  coasts  recede. 

XXI. 

The}'  fell  behind  the  wave  at  last, 
But  when  a  second  week  had  passed, 
And  we  beheld  in  ocean  merge 
Those  isles,  so  long  the  western  verge 
Of  the  known  world  to  Christian  men, 
Thoughtful  and  sadly  gazed  we  then ; 
And  many  a  hardy  cavalier 
Brushed  from  his  cheek  the  unbidden  tear. 
"Well  might  we  gaze  :  thenceforth  no  more, 
While  westward  three  long  months  we  bore, 
The  bending  skies  enclosed  a  shore  ; 
Their  moving  circle  still  embraced 
Nought  but  a  wide  and  watery  waste. 

XXII. 

Misgivings  filled  the  hardy  crew  : 

Nought  of  these  boundless  seas  they  knew ; 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  119 

No  friendly  beacon's  frequent  light 

Here  rose  upon  the  starless  night 

And,  often  as  some  watchful  eye 

Seemed  the  far  distant  land  to  spy, 

The  filmy  soil  dissolved  in  air, 

Frail  as  the  hopes  that  placed  it  there. 

Strange  doubts  were  felt,  strange  evils  feared  ; 

And  when  the  trembling  needle  veered,8 

No  longer  faithful  to  the  pole, 

Pervading  horror  seized  the  whole. 

Our  port  was  passed,  they  said,  and  found 

A  sea  which  had  no  western  bound, 

And  in  whose  desert  depths  afar, 

Powerless  would  prove  the  sailor's  star. 

XXIII. 

But,  midst  our  growing  gloom  and  doubt, 

From  cross-trees  rang  the  merry  shout,  — 

"  Land!  land!  upon  the  weather  beam!" 

And,  gilded  by  a  sudden  gleam, 

We  saw  it  like  an  emerald  bar 

In  verdant  beauty  stretching  far, 

And  sent  our  answering  cheers  on  high 

In  one  long,  wild,  tumultuous  cry ! 

I  seem  to  hear  it  while  I  speak  ; 

It  shook  the  pennant  on  the  peak ! 


120  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Some  leapt  and  danced  with  boundless  glee, 
Some  fell  upon  the  bended  knee, 
And  one  went  mad  with  ecstasy. 

XXIV. 

Instinctive  now  the  willing  crew 
To  wait  expected  orders  flew, 
And  soon  we  made,  with  shifted  sail, 
A  zigzag  course  against  the  gale, 
Such  path  as  politicians  know, 
Ne'er  aiming  where  we  meant  to  go. 
But  soon  the  breezes  fell  away, 
And  motionless  our  vessel  lay 
All  powerless  on  the  water  left, 
Like  body  of  its  soul  bereft. 

XXV. 

In  vain  we  sent  new  sails  on  high 
To  coax  the  zephyrs  from  the  sk}- , 
Foremast  and  mizzen  and  towering  main 
With  canvas  crowded  all  in  vain  : 
Still  three  long  miles  lay  stretched  between 
Ourselves  and  that  bright  marge  of  green  ; 
And  had  it  been  that  gorgeous  isle, 
Produced  by  necromantic  wile, 


JUAN    BELLAIRE.  121 

Which,  if  beheld  till  set  of  sun 
With  e}-e  unwinking,  may  be  won, 
But,  if  the  gazer  turns  his  head, 
Sinks  in  the  might}'  deep,  like  lead, 
Methinks  we  should  have  gained  the  prize, 
So  fixed  were  our  delighted  eyes. 

XXVI. 

The  wind  that  sweeps  the  Indian  seas 
Seldom  exceeds  a  grateful  breeze, 
And  oft,  as  on  the  inland  lakes, 
No  breath  their  silver  surface  breaks  ; 
But  when  across  the  frightened  main 
Speeds  the  resistless  hurricane, 
The  boiling  depths  convulsive  rise 
In  foaming  ridges  to  the  skies. 
So  sleep,  alas  !  in  seeming  rest, 
The  passions  in  the  human  breast ; 
So  rise,  at  times,  beyond  control, 
And  shake  and  agitate  the  soul. 

XXVII. 

Such  was  the  heaven-directed  blast 
Which  once  across  these  waters  passed, 
When,  gloating  o'er  his  golden  freight, 
BODILLA  sought  his  native  state,  — 
11 


122  JUAN   BELLALBE. 

BODILLA,  by  whose  cruel  rage, 
The  hero  of  this  modern  age,* 
Disgraced  by  manacle  and  chain, 
Went  captive  to  the  court  of  Spain  ; 
Himself  was  called  to  loftier  court : 
Ere  scarce  he  left  this  island  port 
God  sent  his  minister  of  wrath, 
The  fierce  tornado,  on  his  path, 
And  fifteen  ships,  with  flowing  sail, 
"Went  down  before  that  vengeance  gnle  !  * 


XXVIII. 

Alas  for  us  !  our  own  distress, 
If  less  it  were,  was  only  less : 
I  woke  that  night  from  peaceful  dream, 
To  see  the  lightning's  lurid  gleam 
Flashing  across  the  foaming  crest 
Of  the  vexed  ocean's  heaving  breast ; 
The  answered  shouts  on  deck  to  hear, 
That  told  impending  clanger  near  ; 
The  dismal  creaking  of  the  shrouds  ; 
The  flapping  of  the  canvas  clouds  ; 
And  over,  under,  midst  the  whole, 

The  thunder's  long,  hoarse,  deafening  roll. 
*  Columbus. 


JUAN  BELLAEEE.  123 

XXIX. 


On  deck  with  reeling  steps  I  went 
Just  as  the  whole  broad  firmament, 
And  all  the  vast  expanse  below, 
Were  radiant  with  the  lightning's  glow. 
The  rushing  waves,  th'  inclining  ship, 
The  captain  with  his  pallid  lip, 
The  sailors  clinging  to  the  yards, 
The  group  that  clustered  by  the  guards, 
The  reef  that  roared  upon  the  lee,  — 
I  saw  them  all,  then  ceased  to  see  ; 
Such  starless,  rayless,  total  night 
Followed  that  brief  and  dazzling  light. 

XXX. 

Why  dwell  upon  that  hour  of  fear? 
Each  flash  revealed  the  rocks  more  near. 
'Twas  vain  to  strive  :  our  gallant  crew 
Had  done  what  mortal  men  could  do, 
Then,  conscious  of  the  coming  wreck, 
Heedless  of  orders,  thronged  the  deck. 
Their  brave  commander  at  his  post 
Calmly  surveyed  the  rugged  coast 
To  see,  amid  the  impending  strife, 
What  chance  might  yet  remain  for  life. 


124  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Brave  men  exchanged  a  sad  farewell  : 

Others  with  terror  lifeless  fell, 

While  prayers  and  shrieks,  a  mingled  sound, 

In  wild  confusion  rose  around. 

Now  seemed  some  dark  and  giant  form 

Rushing  beside  us  through  the  storm  ; 

Now  one  hoarse  shout  above  the  blast 

Rang  from  the  quarter-deck,  "  /Standfast!  " 

Dread  expectation  held  each  breath 

All  clinging  with  the  grasp  of  death  : 

Then  came  —  O  God  !  what  tongue  can  tell, 

What  heart  upon  that  picture  dwell  ?  — 

The  conflict  of  the  keel  and  rock  ! 

The  crash,  the  universal  shock  ! 

The  falling  masts,  and  whelming  waves, 

And  madmen  leaping  to  their  graves, 

And  others,  with  despairing  cry 

And  spectral  face,  swept  swiftly  by. 

XXXI. 

Day  dawned  upon  a  sea  that  bore 

No  trace  of  elemental  war, 

But  lay  all  placid  and  serene, 

Skirted  by  banks  of  living  green, 

While  rocks  that  harmless  seemed  as  they, 

Guarding  the  coast  adjacent  lay, 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  125 

And  on  their  sunken  sides  sustained 
What  little  of  our  bark  remained, 
A  shattered  and  dismantled  hull 
Saved  by  the  tempest's  timely  lull. 
Bnt  few  survived  that  night  of  woes, 
And  some,  like  me,  to  envy  those 
For  whom  the  wind  of  autumn  moans 
Around  those  huge  sepulchral  stones. 

XXXII. 

How  strange  and  dark  are  Heaven's  decrees  ! 
How  fathomless  their  m3'steries  ! 
I  had  one  friend  and  comrade  there, 
And  caught  his  look  of  wild  despair, 
When  swept  across  that  stranded  ship 
With  the  loved  name  upon  his  lip, 
Of  one  whose  heart  would  break  for  him, 
Whose  eye  with  watching  would  grow  dim  ; 
While  I,  alas  !  was  spared  to  know 
How  taste  the  bitter  dregs  of  woe,  — 
To  know,  if  whelmed  in  that  dark  sea, 
There  had  been  none  to  weep  for  me. 
I  doubt  me  not  'tis  right  and  just ; 
'Tis  deadly  error  to  mistrust : 
The}7  say  the  coming  state  of  bliss 
Will  solve  the  Hysterics  of  this. 
11* 


126  JTJAN   BELLAIRB. 

XXXIII. 

And  now  the  toilsome  task  ensued 

To  pass  the  intervening  flood, 

And  with  some  rescued  stores  to  reach 

As  best  we  might  the  neighboring  beach ; 

And,  ere  the  weary  work  was  done, 

Once  more  the  sea  ingulfed  the  sun. 

At  such  an  hour,  in  such  a  plight, 

Amid  the  gathering  shades  of  night, 

Eight  shipwrecked  men  worn  down  with  toil, 

We  reached  and  rested  on  the  soil, 

Yet,  mindful  of  our  sovereign's  fame, 

Made  formal  seizure  in  his  name. 

Scarce  worth}*  of  the  pains  it  proved, 

Inhabited  by  nought  that  moved, 

Save  singing  birds  unused  to  own 

Subjection  to  terrestrial  throne  ; 

And  well,  methinks,  our  realm  might  spare 

To  those  bright  citizens  of  air 

A  province  so  minute  and  fair. 

XXXIV. 

The  history  of  the  ensuing  year, 
Made  up  of  grief,  fatigue,  and  fear, 
And  passed  in  forced  seclusion  here, 
Shall  not  annoy  thy  friendly  ear. 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  127 

At  every  point  our  signals  flew 
Till  from  the  encircling  seas  they  drew 
A  bark  we  long  had  watched,  and  wept 
While  yet  a  doubtful  course  it  kept. 
From  Spanish  soil,  with  Spaniards  fraught, 
Bound  to  the  very  isle  we  sought, 
Judge  with  what  joy  our  bosoms  beat 
To  find  its  deck  beneath  our  feet ! 

XXXV. 

'Neath  sunny  skies,  o'er  sunny  seas, 
"W  e  sped  with  light  and  favoring  breeze, 
Till  twice  the  calm  and  cloudless  even 
Disclosed  the  diamond  depths  of  heaven  ; 
"When  next  the  sun's  returning  rays 
Revealed  to  our  expectant  gaze 
Our  promised  land,  as  bright  and  green 
As  that  from  Pisgah's  summit  seen. 
Coasting  along  its  verdant  beach, 
The  second  day  sufficed  to  reach 
Domingo's  spacious  bay  and  port 
Crowned  with  her  city  and  her  fort. 
How  glowed  my  heart  with  ecstasy 
That  long-imagined  sight  to  see  ! 
How  most  with  happiness  elate, 
To  view  those  marble  halls  of  state, 


128  JUAN    BELLAIEE. 

Where  soon  I  hoped,  a  welcome  guest, 
From  weary  wanderings  I  should  rest, 
And  her  dear  smile,  obtained  at  last, 
Should  pay  for  every  peril  past. 


XXXVI. 

Impeached,  tried,  judged,  condemned  in  haste, 

Deposed,  degraded,  and  disgraced, 

Confined,  escaped,  fled  with  his  child 

For  refuge  to  some  distant  wild,  — 

Such  tidings  of  GOXSALVO  first 

Upon  my  failing  senses  burst. 

Few  words  and  sad  shall  serve  to  tell 

How  such  a  fearful  fate  befell, 

B}-  arts  at  which  the  fiends  of  hell 

Must  stand  astonished  and  aghast, 

And  own  themselves  on  earth  surpassed. 

XXXVII. 

Most  proud,  most  powerful,  and  most  vain 
Of  all  the  haughty  peers  of  Spain, 
Heir  of  a  house  that  ranked  alone 
Betwixt  the  nobles  and  the  throne, 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  129 


And  made  of  buried  bones  its  boasts, 
And  a  long  line  of  titled  ghosts, 
GALINDA,  waiving  rank  and  pride, 
Had  sought  my  INEZ  for  his  bride, 
Not  dreaming  that  a  modern  lord, 
Who  owed  his  title  to  his  sword, 
Could  hesitate  with  joy  to  claim 
Alliance  with  his  ancient  name. 
His  suit,  repelled  though  oft  renewed, 
At  length  engendered  deadly  feud : 
Long  he  revolved,  with  awful  ire, 
A  plot  to  crush  the  loving  sire, 
And  her,  survivor  of  his  woes, 
To  gain  upon  what  terms  he  chose. 

XXXVIII. 

Think  not  with  grief  my  senses  fail : 
I  have  high  warrant  for  the  tale. 
To  him  —  a  curse  upon  the  art 
That  swayed  his  unrelenting  heart !  — 
To  him,  adviser  of  the  crown, 
I  owed  that  station  of  renown 
Which  held  me  prisoner  still  in  Spain, 
When  sailed  GONSALVO  o'er  the  main  ; 
His  hand,  though  then,  alas  !  untraced, 
Had  round  his  mighty  victim  placed 


130  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

In  ever}*  post  of  power  his  spies 

Skilled  to  construct  stupendous  lies  ; 

And  when  at  length  foul  rumors  came 

Aspersive  of  GONSALVO'S  fame, 

And  even,  coupled  with  his  name, 

The  charge  of  treason  stalked  abroad, 

Linked  with  rapacity  and  fraud, 

It  was  GALINDA'S  counsel  still, 

Gave  bias  to  the  royal  will, 

Whose  mind,  with  age  and  illness  dim, 

Doubted  and  feared  and  hoped  with  him. 

XXXIX. 

And  when  at  length  a  potent  court 
Of  trial  and  of  last  resort, 
Unwillingly  the  king  decreed, 
Himself,  with  feigned  dislike  indeed, 
As  modest  merit  ever  must, 
Received  the  magisterial  trust, 
With  power,  —  aye,  doubt  it  if  thou  wilt, 
On  proof  of  DON  GONSALVO'S  guilt, 
To  fix  without  appeal  his  fate, 
And  take  himself  the  helm  of  state.6 
Thus,  with  a  hate  that  knew  no  ebb, 
GALINDA  wove  his  wicked  web,  — 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  131 

A  web  whose  single  threads  though  light, 
And  drawn  at  first  too  fine  for  sight, 
Conjointly  formed  a  mesh  at  last 
Which  held  his  struggling  victim  fast. 

XL. 

Not  India's  wealth  nor  India's  throne 
Had  ever  proved  a  lure  alone, 
Enough  to  tempt  o'er  stormy  seas 
GALINDA  from  his  home  of  ease  ; 
But  passions  fierce  and  foul  possessed 
The  portals  of  his  tortuous  breast ; 
These,  with  ambition's  powerful  aid, 
And  avarice  joined,  his  bosom  swayed. 
He  went;  and  in  Domingo's  bay 
His  gallant  fleet  at  anchor  lay, 
Ere  his  unconscious  victim  heard 
Of  crime  alleged,  or  charge  preferred. 

XLI. 

The  rest  thou  knowest :  of  what  avail 
To  dwell  upon  each  dread  detail  ?  — 
What  perjured  witnesses  arrayed, 
What  mockeiy  of  a  trial  made. 
GONSALVO,  doomed  to  speedy  death, 
In  durance  drew  permitted  breath, 


132  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Whence,  by  some  agency  unknown 
Escaped,  he  fled,  but  not  alone  ; 
For,  though  of  fortune's  smiles  bereft, 
His  heart's  best  treasure  still  was  left, 
More  prized  than  wealth,  or  power,  or  praise, 
Or  civic  wreaths,  or  martial  bays. 

XLIL 

Devoid  of  peace,  unknown  to  rest, 

Twelve  months  of  careful,  toilful  quest 

I  made  throughout  the  desert  wilds 

Of  this  and  the  adjacent  isles. 

Vain  was  the  search  :  that  clouded  fate 

To  which  GALINDA'S  baffled  hate, 

Backed  by  his  power,  could  find  no  clew, 

Defied  my  feebler  efforts  too  ; 

'Twas  when  hope's  light  had  left  my  breast, 

I  felt  what  other  ills  oppressed, 

And,  stretched  upon  a  bed  of  pain, 

Dreamed  all  my  miseries  o'er  again. 

XLIII. 

O  Death !  the  dread  and  scourge  of  those 
In  whom  life's  current  calmly  flows, 
Whose  temperate  pulse,  with  equal  beat, 
Measures  the  moments  as  they  fleet, 


JUAN    BELLAIEE.  133 

Who  hail  with  jo}'  each  rising  sun, 
And  calmly  sleep  when  day  is  done ; 
Who  never  knew  the  grief  to  bend 
O'er  dust  that  once  had  been  a  friend,  — 
O  Death,  how  changed  to  me  thy  mien ! 
How  calm  thine  aspect,  how  serene ! 
No  iron  crown  thy  temples  wore, 
No  dart  thy  rattling  fingers  bore  ; 
But  on  thy  brow  a  look  of  love 
Proclaimed  thy  mission  from  above, 
And  in  tliy  grasp  a  golden  key 
Promised  to  set  my  spirit  free. 
But  even  thou  canst  mock  with  hope  : 
Thy  shadowy  gates  but  seemed  to  ope, 
GaA'e  but  one  glimpse  of  outer  day, 
And  left  me  prisoner  still  in  clay. 

END    OF    SIR   JUAN'S    STORY. 

XLIV. 

He  who  had  watched  the  listener's  face, 
And  marked  each  flitting  feeling's  trace, 
Surprise  and  grief,  rapture  and  wrath, 
Each  following  its  precursor's  path, 
But  yielding  all  at  length  to  joy 
Calm,  certain,  fixed,  without  alloy, 
12 


134  JUAN    BELLAIRE. 

Had  marvelled  much  such  signs  to  see 
Produced  by  tale  of  misery. 
With  kindling  eye,  and  flushing  cheek, 
Thrice  did  ASSELMO  strive  to  speak  : 
In  vain,  —  upon  his  faltering  tongue, 
Half  formed,  the  trembling  accents  hung  ; 
Then  pointing  where,  -without  the  grot, 
In  beauty  stood  his  vine-clad  cot, 
Now  glistening  in  the  lunar  ray, 
Arose,  and  thither  led  the  way. 

XLV. 

Arrived  within,  in  eager  haste, 
The  priest  bj-  secret  means  displaced 
"What,  seeming  firm  and  solid  wall, 
Gave  entrance  to  a  lighted  hall, 
Whence  oped  another  exit  still 
Arranged  with  eye-def3'ing  skill. 
BELLAIRE,  not  doubting  rites  divine 
To  witness  at  some  inner  shrine, 
Approached  without  a  hope  or  fear, 
Till  distant  music  reached  his  ear ; 
Appalled,  dismayed,  he  paused,  and  heard 
It  was  enough — one  only  word. 
How  reason  reeled  upon  her  throne, 
By  word  and  look  alike  were  shown  ; 


JUAN   BELLAIEE.  135 

With  frenzy's  fire  his  dark  eye  burned, 

Full  on  the  trembling  priest  he  turned ; 

"Who,  what  art  thou,  old  man,"  he  said, — 

"  Angel  or  fiend  to  raise  the  dead? 

Is  she  on  earth,  or  I  in  heaven? . 

Speak,  ere  my  tortured  brain  is  riven  !  " 

With  pallid  lips  the  priest  again 

Essayed  the  mystery  to  explain, 

But,  mastered  by  emotion  still, 

No  answering  voice  obej'ed  his  will. 

A  secret  signal  served  instead, 

Well  known  within,  and  soon  obeyed  ; 

Ceased  suddenly  the  distant  song, 

Light  steps  were  heard  the  halls  along, 

And  INEZ,  radiant  with  charms, 

Fell  fainting  in  her  lover's  arms. 

XLVI. 

Fancy,  with  her  Daguerrean  power, 
May  paint,  perhaps,  that  joyous  hour,  — 
The  maiden's  bliss,  the  sire's  delight, 
The  voiceless  rapture  of  the  knight, 
ANSELMO'S  pleasure  scarcely  less 
Blest  with  abilit}-  to  bless  ; 
Fancy,  I  say,  of  matchless  skill, 
Has  power,  perhaps,  the  sketch  to  fill : 


136  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

Such  scene  to  draw,  such  joys  define, 
Needs  more  presumptuous  pen  than  mine. 

XLVII. 

No  longer  here  the  Muse  need  dwell, 

Or  pause  each  light  detail  to  tell ; 

What  way  the  priest  his  friends  had  freed, 

How  sheltered  in  their  utmost  need, 

How  each  ingenious  search  defied, 

Or  how  GONSALVO'S  wants  supplied  ; 

The  fairer  task  be  hers,  to  show 

How  fortune's  skies,  whose  sudden  glow 

Thus  broke  upon  a  cheerless  night, 

Grew  still  more  beautiful  and  bright. 

XLVIII. 

That  monarch  dread  who  claims  his  own 
Alike  from  cottage  and  from  throne, 
His  dart  through  Spain's  regalia  thrust, 
And  turned  a  mighty  king  to  dust. 
XIMEXES,  wise  and  good  and  great,6 
Assumed  the  vacant  helm  of  state,  — 
XIMENES,  worthy  well  to  sway 
The  mightiest  sceptre  of  his  clay. 
None  saw  with  more  unclouded  view 
Dark  error's  tortuous  windings  through  ; 


JUAN   BELLAIRE.  137 

None,  heedless  more  of  human  wrath, 
Trod  Truth's  illuminated  path. 
Himself  a  priest,  the  regent  knew 
ANSELMO'S  worth,  and  prized  it  too : 
Once  brethren  they  of  ST.  JEROME, 
Ere  duty  called  the  one  to  roam, 
And  one,  severer  trial  still, 
The  lofty  heights  of  power  to  fill. 

XLIX. 

Rumor,  who  shouts  with  trumpet  tone 
To  make  plebeian  follies  known, 
Speaks  but  in  broken  whispers  when 
She  tells  the  crimes  of  mighty  men. 
Such  whispers  of  GALINDA'S  wrong 
I  lad  filled  the  parent  country  long, 
And  now  in  growing  volume  came, 
Backed  by  ANSELMO'S  spotless  name. 
Once  more  was  formed  tribunal  high 
Empowered  the  island  cause  to  try, 
And  strictest  justice  to  award 
Where'er  might  fall  her  venging  sword. 
Nought  could  the  vice-king's  rank  avail, 
Or  gold,  to  turn  the  unswerving  scale  ; 
With  scarce  a  pitying  voice  to  wail, 
12* 


138  JUAN   BELLAIRE. 

He  fell  from  lofty  height  sublime, 
Crushed  by  accumulated  crime  ; 
GONSALVO'S  cup  of  woe  was  drained  ; 
His  name  no  more  suspicion  stained ; 
To  former  rank  and  wealth  restored, 
The  islands  owned  their  rightful  lord, 
Raised  by  the  same  judicial  breath 
That  doomed  his  tyrant  foe  to  death. 

L. 

Most  fragrant  is  the  summer  flower 
When  passing  storms  have  ceased  to  lower, 
And  brightest  are  the  stars  of  night 
When  bursting  clouds  reveal  their  light ; 
So  she  from  occupation  long 
(Sweet  burden  of  the  Muse's  song) 
Dawned  on  the  admiring  world  once  more, 
More  bright  and  beauteous  than  before. 
How  more  than  radiant,  more  than  fair, 
Those  matchless  beauties  to  BELLAIRE, 
With  what  a  rich  and  deep  excess 
Of  all  the  young  heart's  tenderness 
He  prized  that  dear  and  gentle  girl, 
Each  word,  each  look,  each  floating  curl 
That  fell  in  many  a  fairy  fold, 
Wreathing  her  snowy  neck  with  gold  ; 


JUAN   BELLAIEE.  139 

How  with  repressless  rapture  viewed, 

When,  all  their  early  vows  renewed, 

ANSELMO,  at  the  .altar's  side, 

Pronounced  Heaven's  blessing  on  his  bride,  — 

Let  him  decide,  and  him  alone, 

"Who  has  such  treasure  for  his  own. 


NOTE  S. 


NOTES. 


The  knight  of  St.  Jago. 

The  most  eminent  of  the  military  orders  of  Castile  was 
that  of  St.  Jago,  or  St.  James  of  Compostella.  "  The  cava 
liers  of  this  fraternity  were  distinguished  by  a  white  man 
tle,  embroidered  with  a  red  cross,  in  fashion  of  a  sword, 
with  the  escalop  shell  below  the  guard,  in  imitation  of 
the  device  which  glittered  on  the  banner  of  their  tutelar 
saint  when  he  condescended  to  take  part  in  their  engage 
ments  with  the  Moors."  — PKESCOTT. 

2. 

Such  challenge  to  the  tournament 
Granada's  vanquished  knights  had  sent. 

STANZA  xvi. 
* 

"  The  Moorish  and  Christian  knights  were  in  the  habit  of 
exchanging  visits  at  the  courts  of  their  respective  masters. 
The  latter  were  wont  to  repair  to  Granada  to  settle  their 
affairs  of  honor  by  personal  rencounter  in  the  presence  of 
its  sovereign."  —  PEESCOTT. 

143 


144  NOTES. 


And  when  the  trembling  needle  veered. 

STAXZA  xxii. 

That  a  similar  dread  was  inspired  among  the  companions 
of  Columbus  when  the  variation  of  the  needle  was  first 
noticed,  appears  by  Dr.  "Robertson :  "  By  the  14th  of  Sep 
tember  the  fleet  was  above  two  hundred  leagues  to  the  west 
of  the  Canary  Isles,  at  a  greater  distance  from  land  than 
any  Spaniard  had  been  before  that  time.  There  they  were 
struck  with  an  appearance  no  less  astounding  than  new. 
They  observed  that  the  magnetic  needle  in  their  compasses 
did  not  point  exactly  to  the  polar  st3r,  but  varied  towards 
the  west;  and  as  they  proceeded  this  variation  increased. 
This  appearance,  which  is  now  familiar,  though  it  still  re 
mains  one  of  the  mysteries  of  nature,  into  the  cause  of 
which  the  sagacity  of  man  hath  not  been  able  to  penetrate, 
filled  the  companions  of  Columbus  with  terror.  They 
were  now  in  a  boundless  and  unknown  ocean,  far  from  the 
usual  course  of  navigation;  nature  itself  seemed  to  be 
altered,  and  the  only  guide  which  they  had  left  was  about 
to  fail  them." 


And  fifteen  ships,  with  flowing  sail, 
Went  down  before  that  vengeance  gale.  * 

STAXZA  xxvii. 

It  is  necessary  to  resort  to  a  note  for  the  purpose  of  giv 
ing  entire  a  name  so  justly  consiguable  to  infamy  as  that 
of  Francis  de  Bovadilla.  The  extraordinary  character  of 


NOTES.  145 

his  commission  from  the  Spanish  government,  his  gross 
abuse  of  power,  and  the  sudden  and  signal  vengeance  of 
Heaven  for  his  crimes,  are  correctly  hinted  at  in  the  text, 
and  will  be  found  related  in  full  by  all  the  writers  on  that 
interesting  age.  Bovadilla  embarked  for  Spain  with  a  fleet 
of  eighteen  sail,  and  was  scarcely  out  of  sight  of  port  when 
overtaken  by  a  violent  hurricane.  Only  three  vessels  es 
caped.  Himself  and  his  friends  with  an  immense  amount 
of  treasure  were  lost.  One  of  the  ships  which  escaped  con 
tained  all  the  effects  of  Columbus. 

5. 

With  power,  aye,  doubt  it  if  thou  wilt, 
On  proof  of  Don  Gonsalvo's  guilt, 
To  fix  without  appeal  his  fate, 
And  take  himself  the  helm  of  state. 

STANZA  xxxix. 

This  remarkable  power  was  actually  vested  in  Bovadilla, 
and  led  to  the  gross  wrongs  referred  to  in  a  preceding  note. 

"It was  impossible,"  says  Dr.  Robertson,  "to  escape  con 
demnation,  when  this  preposterous  commission  made  it  the 
interest  of  the  judge  to  pronounce  the  person  whom  he  was 
sent  to  try  guilty." 

6. 

Ximenes,  wise  and  good  and  great. 

STANZA  xlviii. 

Francisco  de  Cisneros  Ximenes  was  a  cardinal  and  a 
Spanish  statesman.    Ferdinand,  at  his  death,  by  the  unani- 
13 


146  NOTES. 

mous  advice  of  his  counsellors,  left  Ximenes  regent  of  the 
kingdom  until  the  arrival  of  his  grandson,  Charles  I. 

"The  variety,  the  grandeur,  and  the  success  of  his 
schemes,"  says  Robertson,  during  a  regency  of  twenty 
months,  leave  it  douhtful  whether  his  sagacity  in  counsel, 
his  prudence  in  conduct,  or  his  boldness  in  execution,  de 
serves  the  greatest  praise. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  FOITNTAIN"  OF   YOUTH. 

AN   EXTRACT. 


[The  existence  of  a  fountain  whose  waters  restore  to  old 
age  the  bloom  and  vigor  of  youth  is  among  the  beautiful 
dreams  of  a  past  age. 

Some  of  the  successors  of  Columbus  believed  that  this 
magical  fount  was  situated  in  that  land  of  floral  charms 
now  known  as  Florida;  and  the  celebrated  Ponce  de 
Leon  actually  fitted  out  an  expedition,  and  went  in  search 
of  it. 

The  story  in  the  text  is  supposed  to  be  related  by  one  of 
his  companions  and  fellow-visionaries.] 

BY  many  an  ancient  legend  taught, 
Full  long  and  anxiously  I  sought, 
With  weary  limb  and  failing  eye, 
That  lake  beneath  the  southern  sky 
Whose  magic  wave  has  power,  they  say, 
To  wash  the  trace  of  time  away, 

13*  149 


150  THE   FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH. 

Drive  from  the  brow  each  mark  of  care, 
And  leave  its  early  radiance  there  ;  _ 
Restore  the  light  of  days  gone  by 
To  faded  cheek  and  sunken  eye  ; 
Re-animate  the  drooping  head, 

And  limbs  that  totter  towards  the  tomb, 
And  over  all  the  person  shed 

Youth's  early  freshness  and  its  bloom. 

How  long  I  sought,  how  fruitlessly, 
I  need  not  tell :  yourself  may  see. 
Full  many  a  sparkling  fount  I  found 
Out-gurgling  from  the  grass}-  ground,  — 
Now  in  some  cool  sequestered  grove 
Where  graceful  willows  drooped  above, 
And  gentle  flowers  that  bloomed  beside 
"Were  mirrored  in  its  glassy  tide  ; 
And  now  beside  some  lofty  hill 
Whence  upward  sprang  the  sparkling  rill, 
While  far  the  scattered  spray  was  seen, 
And  mimic  rainbows  spanned  the  green. 

In  each,  in  all,  I  paused  to  lave, 
And  drank  unsparing  of  the  wave, 
Then  gazed  within  their  depths  to  see 
If  my  young  }-ears  came  back  to  me  ; 


THE   FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH.  151 

But  still  I  saw  reflected  there 

My  wrinkled  brow  and  whitened  hair : 

Yet  once  —     Oh  !  never  shall  that  day 

From  my  fond  memory  fade  away, 

When  first,  with  hope  and  strength  renewed, 

And  rapture-thrilling  heart,  I  viewed 

Thy  dark  and  silent  wave,  St.  Jude  ! 

The  sky,  with  rosy  clouds  o'ercast, 

Told  where  the  setting  sun  had  past, 

Just  as  I  reached  that  sacred  shore, 
And,  fresh  from  flowery  fields,  the  breeze, 
Rustling  amid  the  acacia- trees, 

A  grateful  fragrance  bore. 

Worn  down  with  toil  and  thirst  and  heat, 
Scarce  served  my  swoln  and  failing  feet 

To  bear  me  to  the  water's  side  ; 
But  when  upon  the  verdant  bank 
Of  that  clear  fount  I  knelt,  and  drank 

Of  its  refreshing  tide, 
I  rose  elastic  from  the  soil, 
Unconscious  of  my  day  of  toil ; 
I  felt  my,  vigor  come  again, 
I  felt  new  life  in  every  vein  ; 
And,  wild  with  one  delirious  thought, 
Again  in  that  blue  mirror  sought 


152  THE  FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH. 

To  find  the  charms  my  features  wore 
Ere  youth  and  hope  and  love  were  o'er. 

Imagine,  ye  who  stand  amazed 

To  hear  the  tale  repeated  now, 
The  rapture-thrill  with  which  I  gazed 

Upon  a  calm  and  youthful  brow, 
And  glowing  cheek  and  raven  hair, 
And  rub}-  lips,  reflected  there  ! 
A  moment  of  ecstatic  bliss 
So  perfect  and  so  pure  as  this, 
Of  hope  so  high,  of  joy  so  bright, 
Of  such  intense  and  wild  delight, 
Has  never  been  to  mortal  given 
"  "Without  the  golden  gates  of  heaven." 
'Twas  but  a  moment,  and  it  passed, — 
Hope's  brightest  picture,  and  her  last ; 
For  by  this  beauteous  vision's  side, 
Unseen  before,  I  then  descried, 
More  haggard  by  the  contrast  made, 
My  own  dark  countenance  portraj-ed. 

Bewildered  with  surprise  and  awe, 
I  turned  my  trembling  head,  and  saw 
Standing  beside  me  on  the  green 
A  maid  of  such  celestial  mien, 


THE   FOUNTAIN  OP  YOUTH.  153 

So  bright,  so  radiant,  and  so  fair, 
I  deemed  some  habitant  of  air 
With  pinions  furled  was  lingering  there. 
But  when  from  my  brief  trance  I  woke, 
And  knelt  to  her,  and  would  have  spoke, 
(Vainly  I  tried :  upon  my  tongue 
Half  formed  the  faltering  accents  hung) , 
"  Rise,  rise,  old  man,"  the  vision  said : 
"  Bow  not  to  me  that  silvered  head  ; 
If  aught  of  favor  thou  canst  seek 
From  one  so  helpless  and  so  weak, 
As  mortal  to  his  fellow  speak." 


Her  voice  so  rich,  so  soft  and  clear, 

Like  music  lingered  on  my  ear  ; 

And,  if  I  had  believed  her  more 

Than  jnaid  of  mortal  birth  before, 

A  task  still  difficult  was  mine,  — 

Less  now  to  hold  her  than  divine  ; 

But  half  convinced,  and  still  afraid, 

Her  gentle  mandate  I  obeyed, 

And,  rising  from  the  flowery  bed, 

"  Whoe'er,  whate'er  thou  art,"  I  said,  — 

"  One  of  some  band  of  nj-mphs  who  rove, 

The  guardians  of  this  sacred  grove, 


154  THE   FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH. 

Or  maid  of  mortal  mould  to  whom 
This  wave  has  given  perpetual  bloom, . — 
Oh,  listen  to  an  old  man's  praj'ers, 
The  victim  of  a  thousand  cares, 
Who,  born  beneath  unkindly  star, 

Opposed  its  influence  long  in  vain, 
Then  fled  his  hapless  home  afar, 

In  hopes  beyond  the  western  main 
Some  home  to  find  like  this  of  thine, 
On  which  that  star  could  never  shine. 
Vain  the  attempt  my  foe  to  fly  ! 
The  earth  is  changed,  but  not  the  sky  ; 
Across  the  land,  across  the  sea, 
Pursuing  still  it  frowned  on  me. 


"  Yet  in  the  record  of  my  fate 

All  is  not  dark  and  desolate : 

The  crisis  of  my  life  draws  near, 

And,  if  the  perils  of  this  year 

Are  safely  passed,  henceforth  my  name 

Renowned  shall  long  be  known  to  fame. 

Thus  did  my  horoscope  foretell 

By  him,  the  great  Mortelli,  cast : 
My  former  life  has  proved  it  well, 

I  judge  the  future  by  the  past ; 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH.        155 

Though  much  I  marvelled  what  could  stay 

The  sands  of  life  at  this  late  da}r, 

Endue  this  dim  and  failing  eye 

With  power  new  regions  to  descry, 

Or  on  this  palsied  hand  bestow 

Strength  to  oppose  a  savage  foe, 

Till  when,  by  Ponce  de  Leon  taught, 

With  him  these  flowery  shores  I  sought, 

Convinced  that  in  this  region  sprung 

That  stream  so  long  by  poets  sung, 

And  e'en  by  savage  seers  foretold, 

Whose  shores  were  strewn  with  gems  and  gold, 

And  whose  rejuvenating  wave 

Immortal  life  and  vigor  gave. 


"But  scarce  we  touched  the  tempting  coast, 
E'er  met  by  an  opposing  host, 
(Some  demon  band,  I  doubt  me  not, 
Who  guard  this  wild  and  wizard  spot) , 
Our  followers  to  their  vessels  fled, 
And  left  their  brave  commander  dead, 
And  me  to  make  what  terms  I  could 
With  these  wild  tenants  of  the  wood. 
I  counted  life  by  moments  then  ! 
Before  me  stood  three  hundred  men,  — 


156  THE  FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH.     - 

If  men  they  were  :  I  doubt  it  much, 

Although  in  size  and  figure  such,  — 

While  broke  the  billows  at  my  feet 

Forbidding  rescue  or  retreat. 

At  once  a  hundred  bows  were  bent, 

A  hundred  poisoned  shafts  were  sent ; 

But  I  was  clad  in. Milan  mail, 

And,  harmless  as  the  summer  hail, 

They  backward  flew  with  ringing  sound, 

And  fell  in  piles  upon  the  ground, 

While  m}*  fierce  foemeu  gazed  in  awe, 

Nor  seemed  to  credit  what  they  saw. 

Their  superstitious  fears  I  guessed, 

And  drew  my  pistols  from  1113-  breast, 

And,  with  my  youthful  skill  inspired, 

Singled  their  leaders  out,  and  fired. 

Transfixed  with  terror  and  amaze 

They  saw  the  unwonted  weapons  blaze  ; 

They  saw,  without  a  seeming  blow, 

Two  of  their  braves  in  death  laid  low, 

And  thought  that,  armed  with  heaven's  own  wrath, 

Some  spirit-warrior  crossed  their  path  ; 

And  then,  with  wild  and  flashing  eye 

And  rapid  step,  I  drew  more  nigh, 

Pointed  the  harmless  tubes  around, 

And  stood  sole  master  of  the  ground. 


THE  FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH.  157 

On  every  side,  in  wild  affright, 
The  pale  survivors  urged  their  flight, 
Until,  the  wide  savannahs  crossed, 
Their  forms  were  in  the  distance  lost. 

' '  Throughout  the  coast  the  panic  spread : 

Where'er  I  came,  my  foes  had  fled  ; 

None  dared  the  mystic  foe  withstand 

Who  hurled  the  lightnings  with  his  hand. 

What  other  incidents  befell, 

What  toils  were  mine,  I  need  not  tell ; 

Long  was  my  pilgrimage,  and  drear, 

But  ends,  I  trust,  successful  here. 

Thou  knowest  my  quest,  fair  lady  :  speak  ! 

Is  this  the  fountain  that  I  seek  ? 

True,  here  is  neither  gold  nor  gem, 

But  little  do  I  reck  of  them  ; 

Give  but  my  squandered  years  again, 

Release  me  from  disease  and  pain, 

And,  once  restored  to  youth  and  health, 

I'll  laugh  at  rank  and  power  and  wealth. 

Say,  does  this  silent  wave  contain 

The  virtues  sought  so  long  in  vain  ? 

If  so,  thou'lt  teach  me  how  to  gain 

Its  secret  power ;  and,  oh  !  if  not, 

Wilt  guide  me  to  that  sacred  spot, 

14 


158       THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH. 

And  my  first  years  of  j7outh  shall  be 
Devoted,  if  thou  wilt,  to  thee 
As  slave,  companion,  guide,  or  friend, 
To  cherish,  counsel,  or  defend." 

"  Dark  is  the  road,  and  drear  the  way," 
With  solemn  accents  did  she  say  ; 
"  The  region  of  immortal  bloom 

Is  entered  through  a  fearful  vale 
Girt  with  a  garniture  of  gloom, 

At  which  the  boldest  well 'might  quail. 
Across  its  gathered  darkness  shed, 

One  only  star  illumes  the  night, 
But  not  to  all  who  thither  tread 

Is  given  its  mild  and  guiding  light." 

But  I  with  eager  haste  replied, 
"  Danger  and  death  I  have  defied ; 
A  thousand  perils  I  have  passed, 
And  shrink  not  from  the  worst  and  last : 
Protract  no  more  my  woes,  I  pray, 
But,  if  thou  canst,  define  the  way." 
"  I  can,"  she  said  with  radiant  eye, 
And  pointed  smiling  to  the  sky  ; 
"  The  pathway  to  that  magic  wave 
Leads  through  the  portals  of  the  grave , 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH.       159 

By  thy  wan  cheek  and  furrowed  brow, 
Thou  art  not  distant  from  it  now. 
Heaven  is  that  land  with  beauties  fraught, 
Death  the  dark  vale  through  which  'tis  sought ; 
This  sacred  sign,"  she  said,  —  and  pressed 
A  cross  that  glittered  on  her  breast,  — 
' '  A  symbol  of  that  faith  whose  light 
Alone  illumes  its  cheerless  night." 


FEAl^K    RUBY. 

A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


'TWAS  Christmas  Eve  :  the  snow  fell  fast, 
Fell  through  the  twilight  dun  and  gray ; 

And  now  a  breeze,  and  now  a  blast, 
The  wind  went  whistling  on  its  way. 

Through  all  the  city's  whitened  streets 
Gift-bearing  people  homeward  sped  ; 

In  car  and  stage  were  crowded  seats, 
And  crowded  roofs  were  overhead. 

Pedestrians  bending  to  the  storm 
Signalled  in  vain  the  autocrat, 

Who  stamped  to  keep  his  great  feet  warm, 
Jehu  in  oil-cloth  coat  and  hat. 
160 


FRANK  RUBY.  161 

But  all  was  mirth,  each  heart  was  gay ; 

Well  could  they  storm  and  tempest  stem : 
'Twas  eve  of  blessed  holiday, 

And  happy  homes  awaited  them, — 

Homes  in  which  jo3*ous  shouts  would  ring, 
Homes  radiant  with  the  light  of  bliss, 

Where  red-lipped  children  climb  and  cling, 
To  win  the  first  paternal  kiss.  . 

Piled  presents  and  the  fireside  glow,  — 
On  such  a  scene  one  fain  would  dwell ; 

But  of  this  night  of  sleet  and  snow 
I  have  another  tale  to  tell. 


Frank  Ruby's  years  were  forty-five ; 

"  And  half  that  period,  and  more," 
He  said,  "  I've  labored  hard  to  drive 

The  wolf  of  hunger  from  the  door. 


Yet  here  we  are,  this  night  of  storm : 
Our  cabin  floor  is  bare  and  rough, 

Our  fuel  scant,  we  are  not  warm, 
We  seldom  have  quite  food  enough. 

14* 


162  FRANK   RUBY. 

Our  children  are  too  thinly  clad, 

Though  they  are  good  as  good  can  be ; 

And  Edwin,  oh,  my  darling  lad  ! 
He  sleeps  beneath  the  briny  sea." 

Patient  and  pale,  beside  him  stood 

His  wife,  and  begged  he  would  not  grieve 

She  told  him  that  the  Lord  was  good, 
And  this  his  blessed  Christmas  Eve. 

' '  Perhaps  he  looks  upon  us  now 

In  pit}*,"  so  the  woman  said  : 
Frank  Ruby's  was  a  wrinkled  brow, 

Frank  Rub}-  shook  a  doubting  head. 

' '  To-morrow  all  the  town  will  feast : 
I  longed  to  get  some  treat  for  you, 

But  did  not  dare  to  spend  the  least, 
Because  the  rent  is  almost  due." 


"  'Tis  right,"  she  said,  "  for  I  have  dared 
(Remember,  it  is  Christmas  time !) 

To  spend  :  nay,  husband,  be  not  scared ! 
It  was  for  them,  and  but  a  dime. 


FRANK   RUBY.  163 

"  'Twas  but  this  once  ;  you  know,  my  dear, 

They  never  had  a  toy  before  :  " 
Is  it  the  rattling  wind  they  hear, 

Or  mortal  hand  that  shakes  the  door? 

They  haste  to  ope,  they  bring  a  light : 

An  old  man  bending  'neath  a  pack 
Begs  food  and  shelter  for  the  night ; 

His  white  hair  streams  adown  his  back. 

They  help  him  in ;  he  scarce  can  hear 
The  words  of  welcome  which  they  speak  ; 

And  }'et  he  feels  the  warmth  and  cheer, 
For  smiles  light  up  his  aged  cheek. 

He  lowers  his  bundle  to  a  chair  ; 

Shakes  from  his  clothes  the  clinging  snow, 
Shakes  it  from  cap  and  beard  and  hair, 

Then  sits  beside  the  fire's  full  glow,  — 

And  laughs  while  Frank  piles  on  the  wood, 
And  rubs  his  hands  before  the  blaze  ; 

And  when  the  good  wife  brings  him  food, 
He  laughs  again,  but  little  says,  — 


164  FRANK  RUBY. 

And  little  they,  so  deaf  is  he, 

So  bus}'  with  his  frugal  meal, 
And  with  that  cup  of  steaming  tea, 

Whose  warmth  his  very  heart-strings  feel. 

Two  little  Christmas  stockings  hung 
Gaping  beside  the  roaring  hearth ; 

"  And  have  you  children?     Are  they  young? " 
The  old  man  asked  with  air  of  mirth. 

They  nodded,  and  he  shook  with  glee. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  he  said,  "  I've- guessed  aright, 
And,  surely  down  this  wide  chimney 

Old  Santa  Glaus  will  come  to-night." 


They  made  his  bed  before  the  fire, 

With  blankets  which  the}-  ill  could  spare  ; 

And,  wearied  all,  they  soon  retire, 
But  not  without  an  evening  prayer. 

Morn  came,  and  still  the  snow  did  fall. 

Frank  feared  his  ancient  guest  would  stay ; 
He  knew  there  was  not  food  for  all : 

Alas,  for  such  a  Christmas  Day ! 


PRANK  RUBY.  165 

He  hears  his  children  leap  from  bed, 

He  hears  their  voice  of  noisy  mirth, 
As  shivering  (each  in  nightgown  red) 

They  hasten  to  the  fireless  hearth. 

"  O  father,  father !  come  and  see 
What  Santa  Glaus  brought  me  and  sis,  — 

Our  stockings  full  as  full  can  be  ; 
And  on  the  top,  see,  what  is  this?  " 

They  rush  to  him  in  eager  strife  ; 

Their  little  hands  outstretched  they  hold : 
In  each  he  sees  —  as  sure  as  life  !  — 

A  bright  broad  disc  of  coined  gold. 

"  What  can  it  mean?    It  is  some  trick !  " 

Husband  and  wife  astounded  say : 
They  rise,  they  dress  themselves  full  quick, 

They  haste  to  where  the  stranger  lay. 

Their  ancient  guest  he  sleepeth  well : 
Frank  Ruby  gives  him  many  a  shake  ; 

He  seems  enchained  by  some  spell ; 
Never  was  man  so  hard  to  wake. 


166  FRANK  KTJBY. 

Once  more  !  he  rises  nimbly  now, 
He  stands  erect  in  manly  grace  ; 

He  tears  the  white  wig  from  his  brow, 
And  flings  the  false  beard  from  his  face. 

"  My  son,  my  son  !  "  the  father  cries, 
Dame  Ruby  swoons  upon  his  neck ; 

'Tis  Edwin  stands  before  their  eyes, 
Saved  from  the  sinking  vessel's  wreck. 

To  paint  a  pleasure  great  as  this, 

A  jo}-  so  tender,  so  divine, 
Such  lasting  ecstasy  of  bliss, — 

Needs  more  presuming  pen  than  mine. 

The  parents  think  not  of  the  pelf, 
The  ' '  eagles ' '  roll  upon  the  floor : 

They  only  think  of  Edwin's  self, 
Nor  ask  nor  guess  if  he  has  more. 


Not  so  with  him,  the  boisterous  3'outh, 
Who  from  the  land  of  gold  had  come, 

And  who  had  labored  hard,  in  truth, 

To  gain  and  bring  some  thousands  home. 


FRANK  RUBY.  167 

"  I've  also  brought  my  own  strong  arm," 
He  said,  "  nor  e'er  again  will  stray  ;  " 

Frank  Ruby  feared  no  future  harm, 
Frank  Ruby  kept  that  holiday. 

He  called  his  poorer  neighbors  in  ; 

A  smoking  turkey  graced  his  board : 
He  laughed,  as  they  may  laugh  who  win, 

And  thenceforth  trusted  in  the  Lord. 


SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


[A  lock  of  Sir  "Walter's  hair,  presented  to  the  author  by  the 
late  CoL  William  L.  Stone,  was  the  talisman  which  gave  rise 
to  the  following  lines.] 

THERE'S  magic  in  each  silver  thread 
That  o'er  the  soul-lit  brow  has  curled, 

Of  him  whose  lofty  genius  shed 
Its  light  upon  a  dazzled  world  ; 

Whose  thoughts  were  pearls  in  gold  enshrined^ 

And  who  in  rich  profusion  flung 
The  rainbow  colors  of  his  mind 

O'er  every  thing  he  said  or  sung. 

At  midnight,  by  my  lamp's  pale  ray, 

The  outward  world  awhile  forgot, 
Thus  musing  long  I  gazed  where  lay 

A  relic  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

168 


SIR   WALTER   SCOTT.  169 

And  soon  my  dimly  lighted  room, 

As  Memory's  conjurations  wrought, 
Teemed  with  the  fairy  forms  with  whom 

His  fancy  filled  the  world  of  thought. 

Here  praaced  proud  Marmion's  fiery  steed, 
Frowned  'neath  his  cowl  the  Palmer  there, 

And  tearful,  by  the  banks  of  Tweed, 
Sat  the  deserted  Lady  Clare. 

Here  flashed  the  sword  of  Snowdoun's  knight 

Defiance  to  a  hundred  foes  ; 
There  Scotland's  king  restored  to  right 

The  Douglas  and  his  mountain  rose. 


Here,  in  her  vestal  robes  arrayed, 

Upon  the  lofty  pai'apet, 
Undaunted  stood  the  Jewish  maid, 

And  scorned  the  craven  Templar's  threat. 

There  passed  in  glittering  pomp  and  pride 

The  ro}*al  train  to  Kenilworth, 
And  Leicester's  young  and  hapless  bride 

Wept  by  her  hope-deserted  hearth. 

15 


170  SIR   WALTER   SCOTT. 

Here  towered  the  Tolbootk,  fraught  with  scenes 

Of  terror  and  of  midnight  strife  ; 
There  Jeanie  Deans — sweet  Jeanie  Deans  — 

Knelt  for  an  erring  sister's  life. 

Young  Waverley  —  his  perils  o'er, 
Pressed  to  his  heart  his  gentle  bride  ; 

And,  dauntless  still,  Vich  Ian  Vohr 

Shouted  "  Long  live  King  James ! "  and  died. 

Hector  and  Lovell  fought  again, 

The  gaberlunzie  lingering  nigh  ; 
Monkbarns,  with  Caxon  in  his*  train, 

And  Dousterswivel,  hurried  by. 

Glendinning  here,  with  mystic  rite, 

Invoked  the  maid  of  Avenel, 
And  'neath  his  sword,  in  single  fight, 

Vaunting  Sir  Piercie  Shafton  fell. 

Fair  Edith  Bellenden  in  vain 

For  her  unloj'al  lover  wailed  ; 
And  hapless  Headrigg  here  again 

The  tower  of  Tillietudlem  scaled. 


SIK   WALTER   SCOTT.  171 

Meg  Merrilies  the  g}*psy  there, 

The  Dominie  and  Dinmont  too  ; 
And  Bertram  here  —  the  long  lost  heir 

Of  EUangowan  —  rose  to  view. 

Here  passed  Rob  Roy  in  tartan  plaid, 

The  bravest  of  his  own  brave  band  ; 
There  with  drawn  sword  proud  Helen  bade 

The  bailie  Nicol  Jarvie  stand. 

Again,  'neath  Syria's  burning  skies, 
The  Soldan  and  Sir  Kenneth  fought ; 

Again,  in  Nubian  disguise, 

His  camp  the  exiled  warrior  sought. 

Once  more  upon  the  sacred  plain, 
At  sound  of  trump,  the  mailed  knights  met, 

And  Scotland's  noble  prince  again 
Knelt  to  the  fair  Plantagenet. 

Now  on  Lochleven's  midnight  wave 

The  royal  barge  in  silence  sped  ; 
Now  from  the  walls  the-  warders  gave 

Alarms  that  might  have  raised  the  dead. 


172  SIB   WALTER   SCOTT. 

Rang  the  wild  watch-bell  long  and  loud, 

Rattled  the  musketry  again, 
And  round  their  queen  the  nobles  crowd, 

To  shield  her  from  the  leaden  rain. 


Here  Highland  chiefs  and  Lowland  lords 
And  Christian  knights  of  Palestine  : 

There  Saracens  with  jewelled  swords, 
And  maids  with  love-lit  eyes,  were  seen. 

They  came,  —  a  bright  but  shadowy  throng, 

Summoned  by  talismanic  spell 
From  lands  of  chivalry  and  song, 

Of  fauy  green  and  haunted  well. 

Thank  heaven,  the  charms  are  unconfined 
With  which  the  ideal  world  is  fraught ! 

No  mountains  bar  the  human  mind : 
No  seas  divide  the  world  of  thought. 


THE  COMET'S  ADDRESS  TO 
THE  EARTH. 


FAIR  Earth,  when  from  the  Omnipotent 
We  on  our  several  courses  went, 

Thy  Eden  walks  were  trod 
By  two  of  youthful  bloom  and  grace, 
Unfallen  founders  of  a  race, 

The  favorites  of  God. 

I  saw  thee  in  an  after  age, 

And  helped  the  waters  to  assuage, 

Which  drowned  thy  guilty  ones ; 
And  sped  from  thee  again,  afar 
Careering  with  my  fiery  car, 

From  thine  to  distant  suns. 

Centuries  passed  on :  I  went  and  came ; 
Thy  beauty  ever  was  the  same, 

15»  173 


174    THE  COMET'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  EARTH. 

But  changed  the  human  race ; 
Ages  elapsed  ;  and  from  on  high 
The  dayspring  of  their  hope  drew  nigh, 

And  dawned  the  day  of  grace. 

I  passed,  and  saw  the  holy  hill 
"Where  the  Redeemer  did  fulfill 

Jehovah's  pledge  to  man  : 
The  sun  refused  to  lend  his  light. 
And,  hastening  from  the  fearful  sight, 

Again  my  course  I  ran. 

Unnoticed  in  the  olden  days, 
My  coming  car  met  not  the  gaze 

Of  philosophic  eye ; 
But,  from  my  sunlit  path  above, 
I  marked  the  fleeting  records  of 

Man's  immortality. 

I  heard  the  ancient  empires  ring 
In  praise  of  Macedonia's  king, 

When  Persia's  millions  slain 
Gave  the  last  glory  to  his  plume  : 
I  came  again,  and  sought  the  tomb 

Of  Philip's  son  in  vain. 


THE  COMET'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  EARTH.     175 

I  passed  when  every  breeze  unfurled 
Thy  banners,  Mistress  of  the  World : 

I  came  again  ;  and  then, 
Where  once  thy  emperors  had  led 
Their  legions  forth,  I  heard  it  said 

Imperial  Rome  had  been. 

And  I  have  come  again,  and  see 
A  new  republic  great  and  free, 

A  wonder  and  a  fear ; 
I  go  upon  my  distant  bourne: 
Alas  !  upon  my  far  return, 

What  shall  I  witness  here  ? 

Poet,  philosopher,  and  sage, 
Look  on  me  !     In  another  age 

Successors  to  your  fame 
Will  gaze  enrapt  as  you  do  now, 
With  kindling  eye  and  soul-lit  brow  : 

Will  they  pronounce  your  name  ? 

Ye  of  the  palace  and  the  crown, 
Whose  names  are  coupled  with  renown, 

Gaze  on  me  now,  that  when 
Once  more  above  your  world  I  dwell, 
I  may  to  wondering  nations  tell 

Such  things  as  ye  have  been. 


176    THE  COMET'S  ADDRESS  TO  THE  EARTH. 

Yes,  let  the  infant  take  the  glass ; 
For,  ere  this  way  again  I  pass, 

Decay  shall  mark  the  spot 
Where  his  great-grandchild's  hoary  head 
Has.  long  enjoyed  a  silent  bed 

Unnoticed  and  forgot. 

Look,  aged  man,  in  whose  dim  eye 
Glow  visions  heavenly  and  high : 

Mine  are  the  faintest  raj-s 
That  emanate  from  that  high  heaven 
To  which  thy  heart  and  hopes  are  given ; 

Take  thou  the  glass,  and  gaze. 

Farewell !  I'll  look  for  thee,  bright  star, 
When,  from  my  wanderings  afar, 

Hither  again  I  flee  ; 
But,  when  this  point  I  reach  again, 
Perhaps,  alas  !  I'll  look  in  vain, 

Coeval  globe,  for  thee. 


FITZ-QREE^E    HALLECK. 


As  when  the  feverish  slumberer  wakes 

From  troubled  dreams  at  night,  to  hear 
The  hallowed  melody  that  breaks 

From  some  far  lute  upon  his  ear, 
And  listens  breathless  to  the  last, 

Dwelling  upon  its  dying  tone, 
Only  to  feel  his  bliss  is  past, 

And  he  is  sad  again  and  lone,  — 

So  from  its  troubled  visions  woke 

My  heart  beneath  the  potent  spell 
Which  in  thy  classic  pages  spoke, 

Thou  "  of  the  lyre  and  magic  shell !  " 
And  so,  each  gem  perused,  I  gaze 

With  lingering  sadness  on  the  last. 
As  he  who  in  Zahara  strays 

Laments  the  loved  oases  passed. 


177 


OSCEOLA'S    SOLILOQUY. 

AN   EXTRACT. 


THEY  call  me  savage  :  I  am  so  : 
My  tears  were  never  taught  to  flow 
For  common  griefs  ;  and  he  who  sees 
His  nation  like  their  forest  trees 
Thinning  and  falling  one  by  one, 
Till  each  proud  patriarch  is  gone, 
Without  a  witnessed  tear  to  show 
The  secret  workings  of  his  woe,  — 
May  well  look  on  with  stoic  eye 
To  see  his  countiy's/oemen  die. 

They  say  an  equal  war  I  wage 
With  women,  and  with  helpless  age, 
And  infants  on  their  mothers'  knees : 
It  is  not  so  ;  trophies  like  these 
178 


OSCEOLA'S  SOLILOQUY.  179 

I  do  not  seek,  I  do  not  shun  ; 

I  reck  not  of  them  lost  or  won  ; 

My  voice  as  soon  could  stop  the  blaze 

When  kindled  on  the  prairie  plain, 
As  soon  control  the  flash  that  plays 

Around  the  towering  temple's  vane, 
As  stay  the  hand  of  my  brave  men 
When  echoing  far  through  vale  and  glen, 
O'er  forest  wild,  and  barren  hill, 
They  hear  the  war-cry  loud  and  shrill. 


If,  in  the  war-creed  of  our  race, 
The  name  of  mercy  has  no  place. 
It  has  been  blotted  thence  by  those 
To  whom  by  birthright  we  are  foes  ; 
Through  our  once  happy  hunting  grounds 
Daily  the  laborer's  axe  resounds, 
And  the  destro3*ing  woodman  roves 
Heedless  amid  our  council  groves : 
But  'neath  the  rod  of  Manitou, 
The  red  man  scruples  not  to  bow : 
We  saw  in  this  His  ruling  hand, 

And  yielded  to  disgrace  and  toil 
As  strangers  in  our  fathers'  land, 

And  aliens  on  our  native  soil. 


180  OSCEOLA'S  SOLILOQUY. 

This  did  we  bear,  and  would  have  borne  ; 

"We  gave  up  all,  with  tearless  eye, 
Claiming  the  pittance  in  return 
Beside  our  fathers'  graves  to  mourn, 

Beside  our  fathers'  graves  to  die. 
Our  restless  conquerors  willed  not  thus  : 

Unsated  with  the  soil  thej-'ve  won, 
They  say  a  better  home  for  us 

Lies  far  towards  the  setting  sun  ; 
A  land  in  whose  green  hunting-grounds, 
Unscared  by  man,  the  game  abounds, 
And  where,  they  say,  is  ample  room 
For  us  our  empire  to  resume. 

It  may  not  be  :  how  bright,  how  fair 

That  distant  land,  it  matters  not ; 
Our  father's  spirits  are  not  there, 

Nor  there  their  sacred  burial  spot. 
No :  we  have  sworn  upon  their  graves, 

Their  listening  spirits  lingering  nigh, 
That,  ere  the  Mississippi's  waves 

Divide  us  from  them,  we  will  die ! 


THE    TWO    BUILDEES. 

ST.  MATT.  vii.  24-27. 


"  HERE  will  I  build,"  the  wise  man  said : 
"  My  walls  to  this  firm  rock  I'll  wed, 

Partaking  of  its  might ; 
Such  added  strength  will  well  repay 
The  work  of  many  a  weary  day, 
And  many  a  sleepless  night." 

"  Why  all  this  labor?  "     Stultus  asks  • 
"  /  try  not  such  Herculean  tasks, 

Nor  "seek  superfluous  toil ; 
Behold  my  own  foundation  laid 
.  Where  easily  the  shining  spade 
Divides  the  crumbling  soil." 

Time  passed  ;  the  builders'  work  was  done 
Twin  structures  towered  beneath  the  sun ; 

181 


182  THE  TWO  BUILDERS. 

The  choice  'twere  hard  to  tell ; 
For  while  the  vernal  season  smiled, 
And  while  the  summer  airs  beguiled, 

All  seemed  to  prosper  well. 

But  sadder,  darker  days  drew  on : 

The  storm-king  from  his  graywacke  throne, 

Leapt  with  mist-wreathed  brow ; 
A  mighty  deluge  swept  the  plain, 
Resistless  rushed  the  hurrricane ! 

Where  are- those  houses  now? 

The  one,  on  adamantine  sills, 
Stands  like  the  everlasting  hills, 

Serene  amid  the  blast ; 
The  other  — lo !  its  crashing  beams 
Sink  in  the  quicksand's  opening  seams, 

Its  short-lived  glories  past. 

O  man  of  pleasure  3  man  of  sin ! 
Or  —  boasting  innocence  within  — 

O  man  of  morals  pure ! 
Look  to  thy  house !     See  how  it  stands 
Imbedded  in  the  treacherous  sands ; 

Our  Rock  alone  is  sure. 


THE  TWO   BUILDERS.  183 

The  storm  will  come  ere  long  at  best ; 
Already  in  thy  nearing  west 

Its  lurid  flashes  glare  ; 
Wait  not  to  meet  its  whelming  shock  : 
Fly,  fly  to  the  eternal  Rock, 

And  find  thy  safety  there. 


ELEGIAC. 


LIJSTES 


WRITTEN    ON    THE    OCCASION    OF   THE    FUNERAL  OF  THE   LATE 
MRS.    SEWAKD,    AT  AUBURN,   N.Y. 


ONLY  a  few  grief-laden  weeks  have  passed 

Since  through  the  world  that  requiem  was  rung, 

At  which  remotest  nations  stood  aghast, 

For  which  our  own  with  sable  clouds  was  hung. 

The  echo  of  that  dirge  comes  back  to-day, 
And  peals  around  thy  tomb,  O  loving  wife  ! 

While  we  commit  unto  its  kindred  cla}' 
This  second  victim  of  the  assassin's  knife. 

We  little  thought  what  heart  that  blow  would  reach, 
Which  Heaven  ordained  its  loftier  mark    should 
miss ; 

Yet  there  were  some  who  whispered,  each  to  each, 
With  pallid  lips,  of  such  a  grief  as  this. 

187 


188  LINES. 

Who  knew  thee  best,  knew  how  through  war's  long 

night, 

"Waiting  the  dawn,  thy  heart  its  vigils  kept, 
And  how,  with  love  intense  and  tripartite, 

For  country,  husband,  sons,  thou  watched  and 
wept. 

I  see  ' '  sweet  Auburn ' '  hushed  and  dark  to-day, 
(From  far,  with  vision  purified  and  strong)  * 

Dark  with  the  crape-clouds  that  o'erhang  the  wa}T, 
Where  that  sad  pageant  slowly  winds  along. 

I  see  St.  Peter's  walls  and  turret  brown  ; 

I  hear  the  solemn  music  of  her  choirs, 
Her  funeral  bell  that  vibrates  through  the  town, 

And  wakes  a  sad  response  from  sister  spires. 

I  see,  Fort  Hill,  thy  portals  open  wide, 

Those  gates  where  mourners  bid  farewell  to  bliss  ; 

And,  pouring  through,  a  long  and  living  tide 
Rolls  onward  to  yon  high  necropolis. 

Room  for  a  sister  here  !     Make  room 

For  virtue,  goodness,  unpretending  worth : 

For  ye  can  spare  amid  these  aisles  of  gloom, 
'Tis  all  she  asks,  —  a  little  spot  of  earth. 

*  These  stanzas  were  written  in  New  York,  and  were  first 
published  in  the  New  York  Times. 


LINES.  189 

A  little  spot  beneath  these  heavens  clear, 

These  ancient  trees  with  overshadowing  bough, 

"Where  song-birds  come,  such  as  she  asked  to  hear 
"When   the  death-damps  were   gathering   on   her 
brow.  s 

0  God  !  we  bless  thee  even  while  we  grieve, 
And  tenderly  return  this  dust  to  dust : 

'Tis  but  the  ruined  temple  here  we  leave  ; 
The  ransomed  spirit  walks  among  the  just. 


TO   (OTE  IN  HEATED. 


SWEET  spirit,  who  awhile  with  me 
Sojourned  amid  this  vale  of  tears, 

Gilding  my  clouded  destiny 

With  the  pure  love  of  thy  young  years,  — 

Loved,  while  on  earth  allowed  to  dwell 
"With  youth  and  beauty  on  thy  brow, 

More  than  all  marshalled  words  can  tell, 
And  only  less  than  worshipped  now,  — 

Sweet  spirit,  in  those  realms  of  light 

Where,  freed  from  earthly  taint  and  sin, 
Thyself,  all  purified  and  bright, 

Through  Christ's  dear  grace  hast    entered 

in,— 
190 


TO   ONE  IN   HEAVEN.  191 

I  see  thee,  thank  the  God  of  love, 

"With  faith's  undimmed,  undoubting  eye, 

Amid  the  radiant  bands  that  move 
On  golden  pinions  through  the  sky. 

I  see  thee  with  that  very  smile, 
Kindled  by  gleams  of  coming  day, 

With  which  thy  features  glowed  the  while 
Thy  gentle  spirit  passed  away. 

That  smile  like  sunlight  rich  and  free, 
Leaping  from  vernal  skies  to  earth, 

Wakening  the  forest  minstrelsy, 
And  calling  gentle  flowers  to  birth,  — 

Upon  my  racked  and  frozen  heart 
With  warm  and  genial  influence  fell ; 

And  long  shall  gentle  feelings  start 
Its  grateful  presence  there  to  tell. 

True,  it  has  ceased,  long  ceased  to  glow : 
Nor  more  those  pallid  lips  may  give  ; 

And  I  have  felt  what  depths  of  woe 
The  human  heart  may  feel,  and  live. 


192  TO  ONE  IN  HEAVEN. 

It  ceased ;  but  as  from  out  the  west 
The  crimson  beams  of  light  decay, 

Only  because  its  glowing  guest 
Is  flooding  other  worlds  with  day, 

So  only  failed  that  smile  of  love 

"Which  ne'er  shall  fail  my  heart  to  fill ; 

And  so,  in  brighter  worlds  above, 
Sweet  spirit,  thou  art  smiling  still. 


THE    WINTER    GRAVE. 


MEMORY  OF  IRVING  P.    MYERS. 


THE  winter  sun  shines  coldly  down 
Upon  a  fresh  and  flowerless  grave ; 

The  leaden  skies  above  it  frown, 
And  leafless  boughs  around  it  wave. 


There  is  no  sign  on  all  the  hill 

Of  life,  nor  sound  of  joy  is  heard ; 

Hushed  is  the  summer's  tinkling  rill, 
And  hushed  the  carol  of  the  bird. 


The  bees  are  gone  :    the  butterflies 
Are  heirs  of  sunshine,  not  of  gloom ; 

Sweet  emblems  of  the  soul,  they  rise, 
Like  it,  from  out  a  darkened  tomb. 

193 


194  THE  WINTER  GRAVE. 

Yes,  they  shall  burst  their  cerements, 
And  flutter  forth  to  life  and  light : 

TJiis  miracle  is  plain  to  sense, 
And  needs  not  faith's  profounder  sight. 

And  these  dead  trees  shall  live  again, 
And  spring  and  summer  shall  come  back 

With  birds  and  blossoms  in  their  train ; 
No  charm  the  joj'ous  June  shall  lack. 

What  do  these  transmutations  teach  ? 

What  do  these  symbols  adumbrate, 
Unless,  like  Heaven's  own  page,  they  preach 

That  earth  is  not  man's  final  state? 


The  books  are  two,  the  lesson  one, 
Recorded  by  the  hand  of  God, 

For  all  who  live  beneath  the  sun, 
And  all  who  sleep  beneath  the  sod. 

TJie  dead  shall  rise  !    Vain  scoffer,  hence ! 

No  more  your  sophistries  I  dread  ; 
Enough  to  know,  "  Omnipotence 

Stands  pledged  to  raise  the  dead!  " 


THE  WINTER   GRAVE.  195 

Tlie  dead  shall  rise  !    And  we  shall  stand 

Beside  them  in  the  pearly  skies, 
And  hold  them  with  a  loving  hand, 

And  look  into  their  loving  eyes. 

Tliis  will  be  heaven  before  we  gain 
The  mount  of  glory  and  of  song ; 

And  this  will  compensate  for  pain, 
And  waiting  wearily  and  long. 

And  ye,  dark-robed,  whose  plaintive  sighs 
About  this  hallowed  spot  resound, 

Who  scarce  can  see,  through  tear-filled  eyes, 
What  here  ye  seek,  his  precious  mound,  — 

Who  here  your  floral  offerings  bring, 
And  plant,  tear-moistened,  one  by  one, 

Crying,  like  Israel's  smitten  king, 
"  O  Absalom !  my  son  !  my  son  !  "  — 

Look  up  !  There  is  no  brazen  wall 
Between  you  and  his  better  home  ; 

And  there  is  hope  for  us,  for  all, 
To  scale  the  empyrean  dome,  — 


196  THE  WINTER  GKAVE. 

And  join  our  loved  ones  gone  before, 
In  regions  of  perennial  bliss, 

Where  we  shall  ne'er  remember  more 
The  anguish  of  a  world  like  this. 


This  book  i*  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


10M-11-50  2555,470 


REMINGTON   RAND    INC.  20 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  221  742  8 


UCLA-Young   Research   Library 

PS2459  .M995e 


L  009  570  992  9 


PS 
2U59 


